


Crates and Water

by teaDragon



Category: The Hobbit (Video Games), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Bilbo doing burglar work, Conspiracy, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapping, M/M, Mild Psychological Torture, Overprotective Dwarves, Politics, Sick!Bilbo, Smuggling, bad idea, sort of a drug bust?, sort of based off of the 2003 hobbit video game, the laketown chapter, with a head cold
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-16
Updated: 2015-06-09
Packaged: 2018-02-17 14:49:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 30,652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2313389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/teaDragon/pseuds/teaDragon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Inspired by the Laketown chapter from the 2003 Hobbit game.</p><p>In an attempt to smooth things over with Bard, Thorin charges Bilbo with apologizing on his behalf. Only, Bard is less in need of an apology and more in need of a burglar...</p><p>Bilbo finds himself caught up in a dark web of crime and conspiracy in an attempt to unearth a deadly plot in the heart of Laketown. He may have bitten off more than even a hobbit burglar can chew.</p><p>Though it would be so much easier if he didn't have a truly awful head cold. Or an angry dwarf King on his case.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> This was largely inspired by the 2003 Hobbit game that came out right after the LOTR movies. I'm taking some things from the Laketown chapter of the game, and the rest is a bit of a book/movie fusion.
> 
> Enjoy!

Human towns were really something. The kind of something dwarves scrapped off their boots after a long trek in the wild, or the something that he had washed out of his foot hair after visiting a marsh. Well, perhaps that was a bit unkind, but really, in his current state everything was miserable.

Bree had been unpleasant. Big folk everywhere. Loud and unfriendly and _big_ , rushing around with never a thought nor care for those smaller than them. Perhaps the buildings had had a kind of charm to them—if you could overlook the grime and frankly alarming lack of plumbing. Nevertheless, Bilbo had found himself horrified to subject his poor hobbit feet to Yavanna only knew what kinds of abominations were hidden in the foul smelling muck.

Laketown, however, was possibly even worse than Bree. While it lacked the mud of a land-based settlement, it made up for it in slimy wooden planks and the overwhelming smell of dead fish and foam. And foul smelling muck that most probably wasn’t simple mud. Now, Bilbo’s opinion of the town had been coloured by their arrival (clinging half-drowned and terrified to a barrel for hours and hours, getting bashed about by rapids and rocks and elves and orcs, and then the indignity of getting stuffed in a barrel and having fish piled in over him) and perhaps he was being a bit unfair, but the hobbit would have gladly taken Bree over this.

The town was actually built on the surface of a lake. A _lake_. And while Bilbo could appreciate the skill and usefulness of such a location, it was far outweighed by his healthy uneasiness around the sheer amount of water everywhere.

Water. _Bah_. He had had quite enough of that to last him for decades, thank you. The barrel ride had ensured it. Not to mention he had been pulled under several times and found himself trying to hack up more of the awful stuff from his lungs. In all likelihood he still had a small pond stuck in his chest somewhere sloshing around inside of him. Who knows when it would be ejected? (Or how?) Ugghh.

The Master of the town was a complete sycophant. Petty and cruel until he realized who Thorin was and then the man was all smiles and grand gestures, overeager and utterly unconvincing. 

While the people seemed to know (and practically worship) the dwarves, the town itself had no accommodations of any kind for smaller folk. This hadn’t been much of a problem at Rivendell, nor even at Beorn’s because everything else had more than made up for it. But Laketown had no elegant architecture or waterfalls, no bright, cheerful gardens or friendly animals, and no feeling of rest or safeness to speak of.

So yes, Bilbo Baggins was not very fond of Laketown and would have been all too happy to simply sleep away their time in that place. Maybe visit a few pubs or enjoy what little sunlight and fresh air there still was to be found. Or visit the market, see some exotic wares. Exploiting the kitchen they were provided with and cook and bake out all of his frustration and rising panic about the live dragon waiting for him was sounding pretty appealing as well. 

 

But then that dratted King-to-be Under the Mountain just had to go and make Bilbo’s life even more difficult than he already had made it.

Drat him.

Xxx

After Bard had so kindly snuck them into the town and allowed them to pass the toll-gate without payment or any other kind of scrutiny, _and_ let them hide in his house, Thorin then decided that the best course of action was to go crash the Town Hall and make a big scene of it. 

Typical.

Apparently it would give them an edge to show up out of the blue. No toll-gates could hinder the path of destiny, or something to that effect. Poor Bard had nearly flipped a table when Thorin announced his intentions.

Upon arrival at the Town Hall- a large building full of important people at feast-Thorin had dramatically pushed open the doors, his frame caught majestically by the light of the torches and the snow swirling around at his back, and declared himself “Thorin, son of Thrain son of Thror, King Under the Mountain. I have returned!” he said, some other such dramatic nonsense. Bilbo couldn’t tell you. His head had been throbbing and his eyes had felt dry and itchy and entirely too heavy.

All in all, it was way over the top and it had taken all of Bilbo’s very much frazzled control not to hide his head in his hands. Which he might end up doing anyway. His head was aching as if all the company had decided to use it as an anvil.

The big folk took to Thorin immediately and delightedly, the Master giving the dwarf a seat of honour at the head of the table, and folk began singing their praises and of the riches that would literally pour down from the reclaimed mountain, no doubt.

The only human who did seem to have some objections was the kind man who had ferried them to Laketown. Bard had tried to speak out about the danger they could be inviting should the dragon be alive and well. He had been shouted down, probably helped by the amount of ale everyone at the table had consumed even before the arrival of the dwarves, not to mention the copious amount afterwards. 

The Master made some kind of a scathing remark about Bard’s ancestor Girion failing to kill the dragon, and Bard had brought up that it was Thorin’s grandfather who had brought the dragon down on them in the first place, and that was about it for any friendly interaction between the brooding dwarf king and the grim bowman.

Bother it all. Bilbo liked that man. He could hardly be blamed for wanting to protect his home and his family. Perhaps Bilbo could try and apologize for Thorin’s complete lack of tact? Maybe bake something for the man’s children, who the hobbit had immediately taken to in the brief time he had met them?

But all of that had been pushed to the back of his mind as he struggled to simply stay awake and coherent and to not fall asleep face-first into his soup. It felt like all of Mirkwood had been shoved into his nose, spiders, elves, enchanted river and all.

Bofur leaned over and prodded the hobbit gently. “You alright there, Bilbo? Looking a wee bit pale.”

“Uggh,” he sniffled. “I’ll be fine. I think it’s just the adrenaline running out, is all.”

“Laddie, you’ve barely touched your food,” rumbled Gloin from his left. “If that’s not a bad sign in a hobbit, than I don’t know what is.”

Bilbo rubbed a hand roughly across his face and up his forehead, unwittingly pulling his curls to stand straight up for a moment before flopping back down. “I’m alright. Just tired. I think that the, what, last _two_ months have been catching up to me? You know, starving in the forest, lack of sunlight, paranoia, then starving in the Elf King’s halls, lack of sunlight, paranoia.”

“Don’t forget the barrels,” Nori added in cheerfully.

“Oh by the green lady, I wish I could,” the hobbit groaned. Fili leaned across the table, giving the hobbit a consoling pat on his curly head. Bilbo couldn’t find it in him to give more than a half hearted glare at the young dwarf.

“Poor Bilbo. I think we broke him. Maybe you’d better go to bed? It would do you a world of good to have a proper rest.”

Bilbo sniffed again, deciding that tomorrow he would track down every handkerchief he could find and hoard the lot of them, just see if he didn’t. “I think I will.”

Dori tutted, “You remember where the house is, right? That big house with the wide roof?”

“Yes, thank you Dori. I’ll be going now.” He gave a wave to the dwarves and smiled sleepily at them, willing his body to not crash into the table or trip over his own feet on the way out. Honestly. This was ridiculous. At least his body had kindly waited until he was out of Mirkwood before falling apart like a blueberry crumble.

He was nearly out the doors when a sudden hand on his shoulder had him yelping and spinning around, heart pounding out of his chest.

“Might I have a word?” It was Thorin. Because of course it was. Without waiting for a reply he quickly pulled the hobbit aside and just out of the main room. “Master Baggins.” 

The hobbit fought back a sign and pinched the bridge of his nose. “It’s Bilbo, thank you. Just as it has been since the beginning of this dratted quest.”

“Bilbo,” Thorin corrected. “It has come to my attention that I may have been somewhat…remiss in my treatment of the Bowman.”

“Oh?” Bilbo scrubbed at his face. “You don’t say?”

“The man helped us gain entrance to Laketown and sheltered us in his own home.”

“Yes, he did do that. Then you tried to publicly humiliate him in front of the town. And made a slight about his ancestors, which I suppose was fair given he did so about yours. Are you going somewhere with this?”

“I…Balin has suggested that the Bowman may be a valuable ally.” Thorin’s mouth twisted as if he had bitten into something unpleasant.

“He does have the favour of the people it seems,” Bilbo remarked casually, plunging his hands into his pockets. He fought back a grimace when the fabric inside was still damp. “Current company notwithstanding. Being the head of the guard doesn’t hurt either.”

Thorin drew himself up to his full regal height and said with much dignity, “I wish to make peace with him.”

“Goodness me, you really mean it? I’m not just dreaming this now, am I?” Bilbo half chuckled.

“Balin also mentioned that you may be helpful in these matters.” The dwarf leveled him with one of his oh-so regal stares. “I wondered why he would think that?”

The hobbit huffed. “I do know a thing or two about smoothing ruffled feathers, you know. The Shire is a large place, but everyone knows everyone either through gossip or family or both, and if you are to have any chance at all you have to know how to deal with all sorts of people.”

“So it is settled.”

“I-what?” Bilbo’s head jerked up to meet Thorin’s decidedly smug gaze.

“You will 'smooth ruffled feathers' with Bard.”

The hobbit spluttered and held up a hand. “Now hang on—that’s not how this works! You are the King Under the Mountain, and you are the one who’s offended the poor man. Sending your hobbit burglar would come across as an insult more than anything.”

“But you have expertise on these matters, do you not?”

“Well yes, but—“

“And I have been advised that you are who I should see about this situation.”

“Look, I am positive that Balin did _not_ mean you should shoulder the responsibility on me, he meant I could help—“

“And help you shall” said Thorin decisively. “I will deal with the Master. You will deal with Bard.”

Bilbo groaned loudly,.“As I’ve said, sending the one person who is not actually your subject nor has any sort of ties to you except out of contract is a Bad Move. Send one of your nephews—or Balin! Someone who’s actually important, not just the tag-along hobbit burglar who knows nothing about dwarven politics or tradition.”

Thorin stared at him, something hard glinting in his eyes, all trace of his previous teasing gone. “You are _not_ just a tag-along burglar,” he said lowly. His gaze softened. “Inform Bard that I have sent one of my most valued advisers to speak on my behalf. If he shows you any disrespect, he will be hearing from me.”

Bilbo gaped, “You cannot honestly be planning to give me some made-up promotion just to—“

“If I say you are my valued adviser,” the king drew close, towering over the smaller being, “Then you very well _are_ my valued adviser, Bilbo Baggins. Weather you accept the position or not, you are to be given the same respect. And if you object one more time I will personally march down to the smithy and forge you a bead that states as much and braid it into your hair, hobbit propriety be damned. I would rather wait until I can do it properly in my reclaimed kingdom but I will do it now if you push me so.”

When Bilbo could do nothing more than gape at the dwarf, Thorin nodded in satisfaction and heartily clapped the hobbit on the shoulder. “Speak to Bard, my valued adviser,” he said, the corners of his mouth twitching upwards.

The hobbit made a high-pitched sound like something between a kettle boiling and a growl and turned on his heel, trying not to grind his teeth.

“And Bilbo?”

The smaller male spun around to glare at the dwarf, “What?!”

“Good night.”

Bilbo simply spluttered for a moment as the dwarf then did smirk and walked off, before he gathered himself enough to shout “You arrogant sod!” after him. Thorin’s soft laughter followed the hobbit even as the doors shut behind the King. Sniffling again he pulled his coat tighter around himself and made for their lodgings. Bloody dwarf.

He was dead tired. The street was gloomy and damp, the wet boards of wood muffling whatever slight sounds a hobbit would make.

“Master Baggins?” Bilbo flinched and turned. Not again. 

It was Bard. He looked grim and slightly troubled, but then, the man always seemed to look like that.

“Oh. Master Bard. I didn’t see you there.” 

“Why are you not with the rest of your company?”

“Ah, well,” Bilbo sniffed, shuffling under the scrutiny of the bowman’s gaze “I’m afraid it’s been a rather rough two months and the call of a proper bed is too much to stay away from.”

“I was hoping I might speak with you,” the man said bluntly. He managed a small smile. “If you wouldn’t mind delaying your rest just a bit longer, that is?”

“I was hoping I could speak with you as well.” Bard blinked and then nodded, pulling the hobbit closer to the wall of the building they were in front of. 

He gave a furtive glance around them and upon apparently finding his surroundings satisfactory, he quietly said “Your companions mention that you are something of a burglar.”

“Oh, well, that’s-” Bilbo scratched the back of his head, “-really pushing it a bit. Certainly not by choice.”

The bowman inclined his head. “Then that you are well versed in stealth. Moving silently. Not being seen nor heard. I find myself in need of such skills, if you would be willing to offer your services. For a payment of course.” Bilbo hummed and wriggled his toes.

“Actually, that’s part of what I wanted to speak to you about.” He glanced up at the man. “Thorin has asked me to apologize to you on his behalf. Now, I know he’s a bit stubborn and brooding, but he’s not cruel. I know you’d rather hear it from him than from me, but apparently I’m his 'valued adviser' now, (whatever that means) so please don’t think too badly of him.”

“Now, in all honesty, I rather see your point. I have my own reservations about entering that mountain, apart from my own discomfort at having to face a live dragon,” the hobbit grimaced before continuing. “Perhaps actions may speak louder than words here. If you need me for some kind of stealth work, than I am your hobbit. Never mind the payment my good man, it is the least I can do in the face of your kindness and our own apparent lack of coin.” He fell into a deep bow, “Bilbo Baggins, at your service.”

Bard’s eyebrows had risen the longer he listened to the hobbit and now a smile tugged at his lips. “I would have trusted your word alone, Master Baggins. You seem an honest sort.”

“Nevertheless,” Bilbo raised his finger indignantly “A Baggins does not let a debt go unpaid. I realize that we as a company are imposing on this town, and not just with talk of entering the mountain. It does not sit well with me to spend money I don’t have. Somehow an I.O.U doesn’t seem appropriate when in all likelihood we’ll all be incinerated by the month’s end,” he said, bouncing slightly on the balls of his feet.

Bard smiled down at the little hobbit, clasping his shoulder companionably. “You are a good soul, Master hobbit. Meet me in front of the Great Hall tomorrow morning. I will explain the situation then.”

“Er, right, but what time tomorrow morning?”

“I am stationed in front of the Hall until noon. You will find me there unless I am called away elsewhere, in which case I will see to it that you are informed.”

Xxx

The morning brought weak sunlight filtering through a cloudy window, though it brought little cheer to the hobbit buried under a pile of blankets. His head still ached and his throat was sore and scratchy. He sneezed slightly as he slipped out of his room, rubbing at his temples in irritation. Just what he needed. A cold.

He stumbled his way downstairs to find it almost completely deserted of dwarves, Gloin and Oin only sitting at the table. Everyone else was probably enjoying a nice sleep-in with real beds. He glared blearily at Gloin who shouted out a good morning.

“It’s far too early for it to be a good morning,” he replied.

“Surprised to see you up, lad,” remarked the fiery-haired dwarf. “Thought you’d be asleep for the next day or so.”

“That sounds lovely,” Bilbo sighed. “Unfortunately I have an appointment.”

Gloin’s brows shot up, “Appointment? We’ve only arrived last night.”

“Eh? Anointment? What’s wrong with the lad?” asked Oin, raising his ear trumpet.

“ _A-point-ment,_ ” repeated Gloin loudly to his brother.

“What? Where’s the lad going?” Oin exclaimed. “You ought to be resting, looked mighty pale last night. Still do.”

“It’s under Thorin’s orders,” Bilbo said, waving them off. “He wants me to go talk to Bard, smooth everything over with him, all that.”

Oin grumbled something unintelligible to his brother who grunted. “Well, you’d best get going, then. And come right back after.”

“Thank you, I will.”

The walk over to the Town Hall was a short one, and the hobbit took the time to squint up at the bright patch of cloud where the sun was hidden behind. By the gardens, it was cold. The wind blew up from the water making everything much colder and damper than it had any right to be, the sound of creaking planks and muted footfalls on the wood washing over him. 

The Lonely Mountain was visible up over the top of the rooftops, leaving a sense of unease deep in his stomach at the sight of it. A strange gull landed a few feet away from the hobbit and let out a cry, fluttering its wings and pecking at the wood.

A huge wave of homesickness hit him with such force that he stopped dead in his tracks. Closing his eyes he took a deep breath, then another. Raising a hand to his forehead he rubbed at his eyes, shaking himself. 

“Come on,” he mumbled to himself. “Get it together Baggins. No time for that now.” Taking a long breath in through his nose he straightened with a huff. He would not be weak. He had promised to see his dwarves through this, and he certainly meant to, homesickness or no.

He started walking again, and a few minutes later found him in the company of Bard.

“I am going to cut straight to the point, Master Baggins,” the man said, after he led the hobbit aside to stand in the slight ally between the Town Hall and the next building over. “Laketown is not a safe nor a prosperous place to live. Things have been going missing as of late. Merchants report their wares being stolen and weapons simply disappear. There’s even been a few rumors of monsters seen prowling the streets at night. I believe that there is a small group of conspirators within Laketown, some local, some possibly from outside with ill intentions. There is some plot afoot and it greatly endangers the whole town.”

Bard leveled the hobbit with a grim look. “The Master is not an honest man. I can trust you not to mention I have said as much about him to any of his henchmen, correct?” Bilbo nodded quickly.

“Yes sir. Though I had guessed his character was a bit on the shady side already.”

“In that I would agree. I have reason to believe that he may even be funding these conspirators, whatever their goal may be.” Bilbo hummed, brow furrowed as Bard continued. “Your skills would be much appreciated.”

“What should I do?”

“There is a man by the name of Vor. A dangerous man with a dark look about him. I’ve never been able to prove him guilty of anything more than the occasional bout of drunk brawling, though I suspect him of much worse. He’s careful and knows when he’s being followed. Tonight, he’ll be at the pub on the North side of town called _The Drowned Sailor_. I want you to find him and follow him when he leaves. See where he goes and report back to me at once if it looks suspicious.”

“How will I recognize him? Forgive me for saying so, but to a hobbit many big folk can look dark and intimidating, especially in a pub.”

“Vor has a long scar running down the right side of his face.” The man traced his finger from just above his eyebrow, past the edge of his right eye and stopped at his jaw. “No other in Laketown has such a scar.” Bilbo nodded, swallowing uncomfortably. “Aside from that, he has dark hair and very sharp eyes. I have a likeness you can see.”

Bard brought out a small sketch from the inside of his tunic, depicting a strikingly unfriendly looking man, something nearly predatory about his gaze. Bilbo fought a shudder even as he leaned closer for a better look.

“Goodness. However did you get him to pose like that?”

“I had it drawn when he was imprisoned,” the man smiled wryly. “I can assure you the expression was entirely of his own choosing.”

“Right. So.” Bilbo clapped his hands together briskly. “Go to _The Drowned Sailor_ , find and follow this pleasant man, and—how shall I know he’s gone somewhere suspicious?”

“Follow him until he stops,” Bard relied. “I will know if the place is worth investigating or not. He may not even do anything tonight and we’ll have to try again-but I have a feeling. Something is going to change by sunrise tomorrow, and I intend to find out what it is.”

“I will do my utmost to see that you do, my good man,” said the hobbit , giving the bowman a quick bow. “I’ll speak with you tonight, then.” He gave a wave and started to head back to the house.

“Master Baggins?” The hobbit turned, “Please be careful. For both our sakes. I feel your dwarf king will be even less inclined towards me if I return you damaged.” Bilbo’s stomach did an odd little flop at the mention of Thorin, but he quickly pushed it down. “My children would certainly not speak to me for a week if you were to come to harm on my behalf.” Bard smiled warmly at the mention of his children, his eyes crinkling around the corners.

“I will be like a shadow, Master Bard, I promise,” said Bilbo. “Though, I think your children won’t be upset with you quite that long. They love you far too much for that.” 

Bard ducked his head, trying and failing to hide the faint brush of pink on his cheeks. 

“Thorin though, may very well have a fit with the prospect of having to find another burglar this close to the Mountain, so I will do my best,” said Bilbo with a wry smile. The man nodded.

“Good luck tonight, Master Baggins.”

“You as well, Master Bard.”

Xxx

 _The Drunken Sailor_ was rather what you would expect to find of a Pub on the edge of town. A bit run down, tables and floors covered in scuff marks from who knew how many nights of service and use. The room was sparsely lit, full of smoke and tall, intimidating people coming for a good time, or just for the drink. Bilbo felt like he was a small fauntling again at one of his many family gatherings, looking for his parents in a sea of tall, strange adults. Only, these were humans and he wasn’t even slightly related to any of them. And it certainly wasn’t his kindly, stuffy Papa or his cheerful Mama he was looking for. 

He sneezed, and reached into his pocket for one of the many handkerchiefs he had found, scrubbing at his nose irritably.

“Oi, Bilbo!” Bofur suddenly appeared in front of him, smiling widely and holding an ale. “Glad you decided to join us! I was starting to worry you’d given us up and went to hibernate in that room of yours until the whole quest had blown right over!”

Bilbo chuckled. “Oh dear me, no. Thorin would probably drag me up the mountain and toss me right into Smaug’s lair, asleep or not if I tried.”

The hatted dwarf tossed back his head and laughed, slapping Bilbo on the back. “Aye, maybe he would try. But I don’t think our burglar would let him get away with such rude behavior, eh? Come on, we’ve got us a table over this-away.” 

Keeping his arm around the smaller being’s back, Bofur expertly steered them both through the swamp of big people to a large table by the wall. The company was all there from the looks of it, and in high spirits as well.

“Goodness, the whole company is here,” exclaimed Bilbo, a bit shocked at that.

“We’re celebrating our ingenious escape from the terrors of Mirkwood, and the last leg o' the quest!” Bofur explained, grabbing a chair from another table and dragging it over to theirs. “Oi, move over lads, Bilbo’s rejoined us from the dead.”

A decidedly drunken cheer went up from the table as the dwarves spotted Bilbo trailing behind the miner. “Here’s to Bilbo Baggins, Burglar of Legend!” Shouted Ori, causing everyone to bang their tankards down on the table and cheer and shout and generally make a lot of fuss.

Bilbo felt himself flush under the attention and sent a questioning glance at Bofur, who merely shoved an ale into his hands and pulled him into a chair beside Dori. The silver haired dwarf leaned over.

“They’ve been cheering anything and everything for an hour now,” he muttered, causing Bilbo to laugh. Sipping at his ale he turned in his seat, trying to catch a glimpse of this Vor fellow in the crowd. Wherever he was.

“Where’s Thorin?” he asked after a while, realizing their illustrious leader was missing, along with Balin and Dwalin. Kili leaned over the table.

“Uncle’s attending important Kingly Duties,” he said, rolling his eyes. “Fili’s lucky he managed to get away at all, else he’d still be there.”

“Oh.” It wasn’t disappointment he felt. How could it be? Why would be feel disappointed that Thorin was off dealing with politics and whatnot while the rest of them were simply relaxing in a Pub?

Must be his cold. 

He sneezed suddenly, strengthening his conviction. Definitely the cold. Bloody cold.

“Oi Bilbo!” Oin suddenly plunked down in front of him, glaring sternly. “Unless if you’ve magically gotten better since this morning you’d better not be sluggin’ that stuff down,” he said, jabbing a finger at the tankard in the hobbit’s hand.

“I’m just sipping it!” defended Bilbo. Oin glared.

“I don’t like the look of your colour, laddie. Non-dwarven folk can get all kinds of illnesses from overexposure or wet and stress. You’ve had all of that and more, don’t think I don’t know! You’d better be back at the house in an hours time restin’ if you know what’s good for you. Lest you want to die by some awful fever.”

“It’s just a slight cold,” Bilbo said quickly. “There’s no need to fuss.”

“Aye, that’s what they all say,” said Oin skeptically.

“Well, I’m sorry but I can’t promise that. I’ve got something that I need to do.”

Bilbo realized with a start they had attracted the attention of at least half the table.

“Are you unwell, lad?” asked Dori fretfully.

“Don’t die on us, Mr. Boggins!” cried Kili, making a lunge over the table for the hobbit who scooted back to avoid the flailing arm.

“I’m not going to die, Kili, it’s just a cold.”

Bifur said something angrily in khuzdul, pointing and gesturing heavily at the hobbit. 

“Bifur is right,” said Fili. “Your health comes first, Bilbo. Whatever it is you need to do can be done in the morning.”

“No no, I’ve got something I have to do tonight” Bilbo stressed. His head jerked around as he caught a glimpse of a sinister face with a long scar down the right side of it.

“Well, tell us what it is and we’ll do it for you.”

“Aye, let us handle it. About time we did something for you instead of it always being the other way around,” declared Bofur. 

“What? No,” said Bilbo, keeping his eyes firmly on Vor over by the counter. “I made a promise to Bard, and I intend to keep it.”

“What promise?” asked Gloin.

“Look, look! I’m acting under Thorin’s orders. He wanted me to smooth things over with Bard, and it turns our Bard is in need of a burglar. And he needs my help tonight.”

“But that’s—“

“I have to go!” Bilbo said suddenly, getting up from his chair. Vor was moving towards the exit. “I’ll see you all later tonight!”

And with that he took off into the crowd, ducking under and around big folk and trying to keep his target in view.


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo continues to track Vor, and uncovers a deadly plot...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter two! Thank you everyone who's read or commented or left kudos! I'm so happy you're enjoying the story so far. :) The plot is about to thicken...
> 
> Anyone who's played the 2003 hobbit video game might notice a few similarities, but just a few. 
> 
> No real warnings for this chapter. Vague mention of drug use. Just some nasty people talking, but it's pretty general.

Sneaking around was decidedly easier without a cold, Bilbo thought to himself as he crept after Vor down a dark alleyway. The miserable weeks spent in the Elven King’s hall had forced him to become more than comfortable with going unseen or unheard, but then he hadn’t had clogged sinuses and an annoying tickle in the back of his throat threatening to send him into a sneeze at any moment.

Vor had been keeping to the shadows, choosing the darkest and seediest paths in Bilbo’s opinion. After a while of following the man the hobbit realized they were doubling back the way they had come. Bard had mentioned that he had been trying to find out where Vor was going, so perhaps he knew he was being watched. Oh good.

Every so often the man would turn and glance over his shoulder and every time the hobbit would give a little start and finger the ring on his hand reassuringly. It was simply unnerving to be looked at and not recognized as anything. Even his extended stay at Mirkwood hadn’t made that feeling go away.

Whatever Vor was expecting, Bilbo would bet his favourite teacup it wasn’t an invisible hobbit.

Turning a corner, Bilbo almost smacked right into the man’s back. His heart jumped into his throat and he froze, inches away from the fabric of the man’s coat. Vor had stopped for some reason, cocking his head as if listening for something.

Bilbo gently edged backwards, crouching down beside a barrel next to the wall. He brought his hands up to cover his mouth as Vor glanced over his shoulder, looking at the space right above and around his invisible tracker. 

A tickle began in the back of Bilbo’s throat. He fought it down desperately, feeling his eyes tear up with the effort not to sneeze. 

The sound of a strangled sneeze had Vor spinning around, a knife glinting dangerously in his hand. Sharp eyes darted around the alley hard and unforgiving, searching for the source of the noise. Bilbo stayed down by the barrel, tense and uncomfortable, hands clasped desperately against his mouth and cursing his poor luck. 

After what felt like hours (but was in truth only about a minute), Vor finally turned and continued on his way. Bilbo stayed crouched down behind his barrel until he could hear the man moving well down the next street.

 

Letting his hands fall from his mouth he let out a quiet and shaky moan. That was far, far too close. Getting to his feet, the hobbit scurried after the man, willing his heart to _calm down_. Oh, but this would be difficult if his cold didn’t let up soon.

Thankfully, a few minutes later Vor seemed to have found his destination.

There was a large wooden building built out on one of the docks of the town. A warehouse of some kind, Bilbo thought. Vor was walking right up to it, approaching from around the side rather than the main door facing the street.

Watching with bated breath, he watched the man stop in front of an innocent looking part of the wall, and after quickly scanning his surroundings he knocked on the wood, twice, then once, then thee times slowly. For a few moments nothing seemed to happen, and then suddenly the wall slid open. A dark figure poked its head out and exchanged a nod at Vor. The two men disappeared inside.

Bilbo clicked his tongue. 

Well. 

That most certainly counted as suspicious behavior. Taking a look around, the hobbit noted the faded name on a sign hanging from the side of the warehouse. _Conor and Sons_ , it read.

And that was a location. He had his place, he had his suspicious behavior, and he had Vor right where they wanted him. Now all Bilbo had to do was trot back to Bard, give him the information, and then crawl back to bed and sleep for an entire week.

Perfect.

The hobbit worried his lip, glancing back at the warehouse. There was something dangerous going on here. It was being discussed perhaps at this very moment. Bard and his men might crash whatever was going on, but what if this wasn’t all of them? What if there was a larger plan that they were blind to? Would arresting this lot truly stop them if they had already set some unknown sinister plan in motion?

Before he could talk himself out of it, Bilbo was already around the back of the warehouse looking for another way in. He couldn’t very well use the secret entrance! That would be much too suspicious. 

What they needed was to know who was behind this. Someone needed to find out what the plan was (if there was a plan at all) and what they were trying to do. Bard could make arrests, but it may not be enough if they didn’t know what was going on. That was a chance Bilbo was not ready to take. 

Besides, he reasoned, being the only person (he knew of) in the possession of a ring of invisibility, it was something of his responsibility to do what he could. And if that meant infiltrating sketchy, creaky warehouses in the dead of night—potentially packed full of unsavory, dangerous humans—then that’s what he would do!

Pushing over a conveniently placed crate against the back of the building, the hobbit scrambled on top and made a jump for the open window. He missed the first time, falling with only a thankfully small thud, though he still looked around frantically for any sign of discovery. When nothing happened, he slowly got to his feet and tried again.

Managing to get a good grip on the sill this time, he laboriously pulled himself up, cursing his lacking arm muscle. Even if he had become much more familiar with Sting, he hadn’t exactly had much of a chance to use what little muscle he had acquired in the woods and in Thranduil’s Halls.

Now _dwarves_ on the other hand, dwarves had arm muscle. Thick, bulging things dwarven arms were. Covered in callouses and scars and thick hair. And it wasn’t just their arms either. 

 

The few times they had all bathed together in rivers or streams came back to Bilbo, and before he could help himself the image of a bared Thorin, hair wet and dripping, rivulets of water running down his scarred torso and muscular back, down, _down_ towards that hidden trail of hair leading—

Nope.

_Nope!_

Stay focused!

This was both the wrong place and the wrong time to examine just how that (lovely) dwarven body made him react.

He hefted his leg up on the wide sill, and eventually found himself straddling it. Peering over and into the warehouse, he gave a start and nearly slipped when he spotted a man stationed only a few feet away from him against the wall.

By the Green Lady. Somehow he hadn’t heard the hobbit’s pitiful attempt at breaking and entering via window. The man looked bored and tired, and as his eyes adjusted to the gloom of the warehouse Bilbo could see several other humans stationed around the inside of the room.

It was a fairly large room he found himself half-situated in, rather like a barn, but with many, many more crates and barrels than hay or friendly animals. There was a wooden wall separating the warehouse in half width wise, and from a closed door in the middle of it he could hear voices. Many voices.

Guards were stationed on either side unfortunately, and Bilbo somehow didn’t think trying to sneakily open it and slip between them was going to end all that well. 

Eyes better adjusted to the gloom, he let his gaze wander, searching for something that could help. It appeared there was a window cut high up into the wooden dividing wall. A window with a ledge underneath it. And conveniently it looked as if he could possibly clamor up if he stacked a few of those crates over and stood on them.

Mindful of the man standing just a few feet away, he felt through his clothes as silently as he could, looking for a suitable projectile. Coming up with nothing, Bilbo suppressed a long-suffering sigh and reached for his tattered waistcoat to softly twist and yank his last remaining shiny, brass button off. 

He ran his thumb over the acorn engraving reverently, before closing his fingers in a fist. Taking aim at the second nearest guard leaning against the wall a good while away he let fly, taking satisfaction in the startled yelp when he hit his target.

“Oi!” shrieked the guard, turning to face Bilbo’s guard. “Eldrik hit me with something!”

“What?” The guard took a step away from the wall. “I ain’t been hittin’ nobody. You’re just off your head, Larvin. Been at the stuff again, I’ll wager.”

“I know you hit me, you rat! Threw something right at me.” By now the other guards were all looking on in excitement at the prospect of a fight. Bilbo suppressed a grin, wriggling his toes at his good luck.

“Rat?!” The first guard rounded on the other, making towards him and leaving his post. “You come over here and say that to my face!”

“Alright, you’re a lying rat!” called Larvin.

The other guards edged the two on, making a circle around them as they fought. No one noticed a crate slide itself flush against the wall, nor several others neatly stacking themselves. Nor the slight sound of someone clambering up to the ledge and over into the other room.

Bilbo happily lowered himself onto a pile of barrels piled high against the wall on the other side and turned to survey the room.

There were humans, about twenty or so, all sitting or standing about the room full of crates and barrels. And there was Vor, standing in the middle of the room talking to the group.

So it _was_ a meeting. Creeping closer, Bilbo carefully made his way to a cluster of barrels. He slid between two, giving himself enough space to sneak out when needed, but creating a barrier between himself and any unwanted accidental contact.

“What are we supposed to do? It’s not our job to see the stuff gets delivered down the river!”

“Clearly someone made a mistake.”

“Not on our end!”

“We didn’t even get half the barrels we were supposed to.”

“The shipment was supposed to arrive yesterday.” That was Vor talking. “Obviously it didn’t. We know barrels were brought into town. Some of them were even marked. But they held _nothing._ ”

“That damned Bowman had a hand in this!” 

“Aye, he was seen bringing in some with fish.”

“No he wasn’t! He brought the barrels in, and then he pays the fisherman to have fish dumped in them.”

“It was the dwarves! I saw it, Bard smuggled them into the town so they could go and make a big impression down at the hall.”

“From the looks of the dwarves when they arrived, they probably were taken prisoner by the Elven King and got out somehow,” Vor reasoned. “Draven, what have you found?”

“Aye,” replied a man with dirty-blond hair standing next to Vor. Someone important, Bilbo thought, from the way he held himself. “We’ve had word from one of our contacts out on the river. He says the king took a bunch of dwarves prisoner a while back, and they’ve all gotten loose somehow. Sneaked out in barrels. There was a chase alright, but the Elven King isn’t too keen to see any more of his type going out of the woods.”

“That doesn’t change the fact our shipment is gone.”

“Security has gotten real tight back in the woods. Apparently the king is putting on a formal investigation of the guard captain and the whole barrel trade.” There was an outcry of shouting and cursing that only dimmed when Vor sharply growled at them to shut up.

“Unless if our elf friend is particularly sly we won’t be seeing any of the goods for quite some time,” said the blond man, face twisting into a snarl.

“We need them! We’ve got to sell the stuff off now and get the gold!” another man shouted. “How else are we going to pay off Gurthuk and his lot?”

“Where’s our gold?!” Bilbo jerked at as the harsh, sharp voice over by the door, and his eyes widened in shock. 

Orcs!

A small pack of the creatures had entered the barn, and while Bilbo steeled himself for a fight, Vor only turned calmly.

“You’ll have your gold, Gurthuk.”

No.

_No._

No way. 

No one could sink so low as to deal with orcs!

“Way I heard is that you lot are down on a shipment.”

A number of the men began to look uncomfortable, but Vor waved the orc off, “We are. But fortunately something has come along that will land us with far more gold than our little trade ever has.”

The orc scowled, shooting a wary glance at the human. But even Vor’s own men were looking stumped. “What are you talking about?” Growled the orc leader.

“The dwarves of Erebor have returned to take back their mountain.”

“The dwarf scum are here?” Gurthuk asked sharply, bearing his teeth. “My master seeks Oakenshield’s head.”

“Their leader has a plan to take back the kingdom,” Vor continued. “But more importantly, they know a way into the mountain.”

“And straight into the jaws of the dragon.” Growled the orc angrily. But he was clearly intrigued. They all were.

“My men tell me there is a map and a key that leads to a secret entrance, one unknown by the beast. It leads right to the treasure.”

Excited mutterings broke out, among both humans and orcs and though the hobbit could make out very little of their features from his hidden spot, he could all but see the gleam in their eyes.

Gurthuk grunted, “What do my lot do? Are we still taking the town guard?”

Vor hummed, “That would be best. If we plan to strike against the dwarves, we will need the guard taken care of first.”

“Kill the guard but take the bowman alive,” said Draven sharply. “That one’s _mine._ ” Bilbo could see the man was holding a black arrow in his hands, idly twirling it between his fingers. 

“Isn’t that the black arrow?” someone asked suddenly. 

“Nicked it from him, I did,” smirked Draven. “It’s his prized possession. I’d like to see it coming out of his chest. After I play with him first.” Humans and orcs alike jeered at the comment. 

“There shouldn’t be much trouble,” Vor said. “The town has ensured there will be no interference. It’ll look like a sudden invasion in the night from a wild pack of orcs. And the poor guard captain will tragically be caught unawares. Once Bard is out of the way there will be nothing stopping us from taking the dwarves. The Master will side with us, provided we give him some of the spoils.” 

“Oi, why don’t we send the dwarves back to the elf king once we’re done with them,” grinned Draven. “I’m sure he’d like to see his prisoners back in their cells. Might even give a reward.” 

“Oakenshield goes to my master,” Gurhtuk snarled. “Him and his whelps.”

“Agreed. Once we have them sorted out, the treasure will be ours.”

A great cheer went up at the mention of the treasure again. “Now go on,” shouted Vor. “Sort out this mess!”

Bilbo found his feet rooted to the floor in terror even as the men all sprung into action. They were in trouble. They were all in _so much_ trouble. Bard, the town, his dwarves--

He had to get out. He had to get out _now_ , and warn Bard.

But that meant he had to escape first. A thing which was quickly becoming complicated as the humans were grabbing and rolling the many barrels to the back wall, and dragging the crates over as well.

His exit was blocked off by a small mass of people running about and steadily hefting away his hiding spot. Invisible, sure, but he could still be felt, and any minute now they’d get to his barrel and he’d have to be elsewhere. He’d need to be quick and fast to make it out the door.

Draven, Vor and the orc Gurthuk had gone a little ways off to speak privately, letting the men work around them. The black arrow was left sitting innocently on a barrel a few feet away from them.

Oh. 

Bilbo felt his fingers twitch. 

Oh _no._

No!

It was too close! 

Far too close.

But that awful man had taken it from Bard, and was planning horrible things for the poor bowman—

There was only one thing for it.

Dashing out from around his barrel, he wove his way through and around the boxes, dodging people and making his way for the leader’s cluster, almost thanking the elves for imprisoning his dwarves if only for the familiarity and something approaching ease in which he performed the action.

He could hear them talking now, and creeping closer he pressed himself flush against the barrel with the arrow on it. Draven had his back to him and the other two were focused elsewhere.

Heart pounding in his chest he reached up and snatched the arrow, shoving it hastily into his coat and barely managing to avoid goring himself with it in the process. Now, to get out—

“Hey! Who took my arrow? What thieving pig stole my arrow!?"

Everyone began shouting at each other, spurred on by Draven’s anger and the anticipation of a fight. A man claimed an orc had taken it, the orcs said the humans were stupid enough to loose the thing—it got bad, fast. Only Vor remained by Bilbo’s barrel, watching the proceeding from a distance with a detached and somewhat annoyed expression.

Time to go. _Now._

Searching around frantically for an escape route, something caught his eye. In the floor a few feet away was a wide rectangular hole. A trapdoor, Bilbo realized. Opening right up into the lake below. Probably used for bringing in barrels.

A sneeze forced it’s way out of Bilbo’s mouth so suddenly he had no way to stop it aside from trying to smother himself with his arm. Looking up fearfully his heart stopped.

Vor was looking at him.

Vor was looking right at him.

Reminding himself forcibly of the ring on his finger the hobbit extracted himself from the side of the barrel and dashed to the trap door, taking a moment to thank whoever had decided to leave it open. He plunged down, falling through the air towards the lake below.

Even as the water closed in around Bilbo’s head he couldn’t get Vor’s expression out of his mind.

It was something dangerous.

Recognition.

Xxx

“I h-hate water.”

Teeth clattering, Bilbo clung tightly to the wooden support post going deep into the lake. He stretched out his hand and pushed himself off, kicking as best as he could towards the next post a few feet away. It was late, dark, absolutely freezing, and he was once again stuck in this same blasted lake, except this time he was actually _under_ the town, stuck in the spaces between the face of the water and the wooden planks of the streets of the town.

And he still couldn’t swim!

He just had to get himself out from under the bloody dock the warehouse was on, and clamber up onto dry wood. Or slightly damp wood, as most things seemed to be in this town.

Stifling a sneeze, he kept on, struggling against the frigid water and latching onto support post after support post until the dock finally merged with the rest of the walkways. Clambering up a ladder someone had left out for reaching a boat, he dragged himself up and out of the cursed water, shaking and shivering the whole way.

As tempting as it was to simply lay there on the floor and huddle up into a ball, the conversation he had overheard in the warehouse was more pressing. So up he got and off he ran, as fast as he could in his half-drowned state, through the town and back to the hall.

A few minutes later, Bard found himself faced with dripping wet and utterly worn out hobbit.

“Master Baggins!” The bowman started foreword, his fellow guards on either side of him snapping to attention at the small creature’s bedraggled appearance. “What happened? Are you hurt?!” 

Bilbo waved off his concern even as he sneezed loudly into his sleeve, sniffling miserably. “Vor, it’s—he’s in the warehouse on the west end of town, _Conor and Son’s_ according to the sign. Hurry, there’s a meeting—lots of people, at least thirty—“

“Faolan! Aren!” Bard called sharply, summoning two guards from the hall. “Get the place surrounded. Cirik, get as many of our people over there as fast as you can.” The guards nodded, and ran to their duties, guards streaming out of the hall and heading off into the town.

“You are sure of this, Master Baggins?” Bard asked, crouching down to speak quietly with the soaked hobbit.

“Very much so. Please hurry, it’s not just weapons they’re stealing.” The hobbit dug through his pocket and drew out a soaking wet handkerchief. Grimacing, he blew his nose, snuffling miserably. “They’ve set up some kind of twisted trade with an elf. They send something down the river to be sold here.”

“What are they selling?”

“I couldn’t be sure, but I’d wager a dangerous plant or substance of some kind. That forest is full of sickened things.”

Bard cursed lowly.

“That’s not all,” Bilbo continued, rubbing at his nose. “They’ve made a deal with ocrs.”

“Orcs!?”

“They were going to pay them off to kill the town guard and make it look like an accident. There’s a man, Draven, it’s him and Vor, he-he threatened you.”

“Aye,” said Bard, smiling grimly. “I’ve given them both reason enough to want to see the end of me.”

“Apparently we disrupted their trade the other day with the barrels and somehow they’ve heard about the dwarves—they plan to take care of you first, and then go after Thorin. They know he knows how to get into the mountain and they’re after the gold. And, oh—” the hobbit peeled open his wet coat and drew out the black arrow. “I believe this might be yours?”

Bard inhaled sharply, “The black arrow! How did you get this?”

“Draven had it. He mentioned it belonged to you.” Bilbo handed it over to the man who took it reverently, fingers closing tightly around it.

“How did you find it?”

“Ah…well,” The hobbit gave an awkward laugh that turned into a cough at the end. “I _have_ been called something of a burglar, you know.” 

“Bilbo,” Bard said quietly, peering at him intently. “Tell me you did not sneak into the middle of this meeting and steal it back?” The hobbit merely coughed and wriggled his toes uncomfortably. “Please tell me you didn’t," the man repeated urgently.

“Oh, it wasn’t that bad!” Bilbo said, finally cracking under the man’s half desperate glare. “A few close calls maybe, but nothing _really_ —“

Bard moaned dramatically. “Master Baggins, you are trying to kill me. If you came to any harm from this I would not only face the scorn of your dwarven King, but the wrath of my own children! Not to mention my own conscious. It is my duty as captain to see that everyone remains safe—especially _valued advisers_ to foreign kings!” The man shook his head and muttered, “And such a small creature…”

“Now, see here!” the hobbit said indignantly. “It was _my_ decision to do this, and I would do it again if I had to!” He sniffed sharply. “I doubt you would find a better person for the job if you tried, and besides, I’m paying off our debt to the town. It’s fine.” 

“Thank you, Bilbo.” The man gripped Bilbo’s shoulder. “But please, don’t ever do anything like that again.”

\“I can make no promises,” the hobbit replied, smiling wryly even as he dug out his handkerchief again, turning away to blow his nose softly. “I am to face a dragon by the end of the month.”

“Then please promise you will be careful, Master Baggins.”

“I will try, if you promise to do the same. And it’s Bilbo to you, Master Bard.”

“And I’d have you call me Bard then, Bilbo.” 

“Good. I’m glad we understand each other. Now, don’t you have some criminals to round up?” 

“Aye, thanks to you,” Bard said with a nod, standing. “But now, my good hobbit, you will march straight back to the house and dry off. I’m afraid you have come to some harm after all.” Bilbo looked as if he might protest but was cut off by a series of sneezes that left him bleary eyed and chilled and sniffling miserably. Bard sent the small creature a pointed glare. “It will not do for you to catch your death out here. Now go and rest!” 

Xxx 

When he finally got back to the house, he was shivering and his throat and head hurt, and the cold night air was doing nothing to dry his clothes. Snowflakes spiraled lazily down from the sky, silently seeking to cover the town in a soft blanket that didn't quite melt when it made contact with the ground. 

He saw this in a sort of half-dream state, beyond worn out and slightly woozy. Heaving a great sigh, he pressed his head against the door for a long moment before he opened it, gratefully steeping inside and closing the door against the chill. 

“Master Baggins.”

Giving a start at the stern voice behind him he turned to find Thorin sitting in front of the fire with Dwalin and Balin, Bifur and Gloin.

“Oh. Hullo," the hobbit offered distractedly. Too tired to do much else, Bilbo began to make his way upstairs, intent on warm, dry clothes and bed. He stopped short when Thorin rose sharply to his feet, eyes dark. 

“Where have you been? My company tells me you ran off after some _man_ earlier tonight?”

Bilbo blinked and sniffled. “That is my business, thank you. Now, if you don’t mind—“ 

“What were you _doing_ , burglar?” 

The hobbit frowned at the dark glare directed his way. “Well. I like that. I’m doing exactly what you ordered me to do. You told me to fix things with Bard—well, I did.” 

Thorin’s eye twitched dangerously. “I did not ask you to run around this filthy town chasing strangers!” 

“No," agreed Bilbo, eyes narrowing. "You told me to help Bard, and Bard needed the services of a burglar.” 

“A burglar, not an ignorant hobbit.” 

“I _am_ a burglar, your majesty,” Bilbo challenged, indignation rising even as his temples gave a painful throb. “Thanks to you. In the last few months I have stolen more than my own weight, crept through an entire kingdom unseen, stolen a whole troop of dwarves, and even bloody _killed_ —don’t you dare say I’m not a burglar! Not when that's my entire purpose of being on this miserable quest in the first place”

“We have a contract, Master Baggins,” Thorin growled. “One that clearly states you are bound to this company. As long as this quest takes, you are bound to _my_ service. You have no right to work for whoever you please. Especially not such vile humans!”

“You don’t own me!” Bilbo shot back, wincing as it aggravated his throat. “I am here under my own will. I chose to sign that contract, I chose to leave my home, and I chose not to go back. And, if I’m not mistaken, you owe me a life debt for saving your whole company—more than once!” 

“That does not excuse you working for these humans while our contract is still standing. Do you have any idea how dangerous they are? How badly it could have gone?" Some old pain flared up in Thorin's eyes before it was replaced again with steel. "Many would not think twice about taking advantage of those smaller than them. Nor of your naïvety, hobbit.” 

“Oh _no_ , you specifically asked me to clear things up with Bard--which I just did. This is what we agreed on. You never said _how_ I was supposed to do it!" "You were supposed to have talked it over, _negotiated_ , not thrown your services around! Your careless risk taking only endangers this quest!" 

"I was doing it for _you!_ ” Bilbo yelled.

It hurt. It really, _really_ hurt something deep in his chest that Thorin only saw him as a contracted burglar. Hadn’t they been more then that? If not friends then at least friendly acquaintances? Perhaps Bilbo was wrong. Maybe what Bilbo had thought was an odd sort of gruff, embarrassed affection was really just the dwarf trying to make sure they didn't have to find a new burglar because their old one had run off or gotten himself killed. 

“Do you want to know what I was doing tonight?" continued Bilbo, eyes glinting dangerously. "I just uncovered a plot to take over the town, kill the company and steal the map and key—they were going to try and take Erebor themselves--after they had delivered you to Azog! So you had better at least pretend that you’re grateful for me saving your sorry royal self—yet again!” 

All those little things hadn’t really meant anything. All the times he had thought that perhaps the dwarf King did feel some affection-- 

Looking at Thorin across the fire only to have the dwarf quickly turn away, something that could have been a blush rising on his stern features as if he had been caught in the act of staring. 

Thorin’s broad hand at his back or his arm when he stumbled, even if Bilbo could have sworn the dwarf was elsewhere just a minute before. The almost fond teasing that passed between the two, how Thorin just happened to end up with his bedroll next to the hobbit’s no matter where Bilbo slept, night after night. 

Waking up covered in that great fur coat when Thorin was on watch. 

He took a deep breath and tried not to cough as he felt something catch in his throat. His face scrunched up and suddenly he let out a series of explosive sneezes, burying his face in his sleeve. 

Straightening up he sniffed angrily, and fixed Thorin with a bleary eyed glare. He realized in the back of his mind that they were all looking at him with a mixture of concern and alarm, but he was entirely too fed up and exhausted to really care anymore. 

“Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m completely soaked, and would like very much to stay in bed for the foreseeable future. Good _night_ , your highness.”

The room was deadly silent when he left it, though Bilbo could feel Thorin’s heavy gaze on him all the way up to his room. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just set up an illegal drug trade in middle earth...
> 
> Sort of feel like I should re-think my life choises or something, but I'm having way too much fun.
> 
> About _the stuff_ , I'm not too sure what it is. I was originally thinking opium, but then looking at Mirkwood and all the crazy hallucinogenic plants there, I think it's something else. Something that causes hallucinations in any case.
> 
> Also! The black arrow in this story is the book version, so it's only the size of a normal arrow. I don't think Bilbo could even pick up the movie arrow, let alone hide it in his coat.
> 
> Whew, good thing the danger is over.
> 
> Right...? ? ??


	3. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There are consequences to busting a smugglers ring...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't believe how many nice comments and kudos this story is getting! :D Thank you!!
> 
> This chapter is shorter than usual because it's actually half of one chapter. I didn't want to make you wait any longer, so I'm uploading this now to be nice. HOWEVER, in doing this I've left it at a cliffhanger I originally wasn't going to have. So, I'm actually not sure anymore if I'm being nice...?? It should only be a few days until I upload the next chapter, as it's mostly done.

There were perhaps few feelings worse than wanting something desperately, and yet being completely unable to have it. Bilbo wanted very little more than to fall into a deep, deep sleep in his snug little bed and wake up in a day or so, all warm and refreshed. 

However, as it stood that beautiful sleep he had been fantasizing about seemed as far away as ever, despite the fact he was in bed and had fully covered himself in blankets.

An aching, rasping throat had forced the hobbit out of his cocoon several times in the night to blindly rustle through his pack for his water skin, desperate for some relief. His head hurt too much to properly enjoy the feeling of his pillow, and it seemed whenever he was comfortable he coughed or sneezed and had to feel around for a handkerchief to blow his nose. His poor nose was surely being rubbed raw at this point, but the need to breath was greater than the slight sting of sensitive skin.

All and all, it was thoroughly miserable night Bilbo spent, too uncomfortable to fall asleep and yet too exhausted to properly do anything about it.

The argument he had with Thorin kept running through his head as well, plaguing his poor battered heart that the dwarf had never really cared for him at all. Curling himself up into a ball, Bilbo pressed his hands against his eyes, moaning in hurt and frustration and just pure exhaustion.

Confusticate it all! Why couldn’t he just fall asleep and forget all of this? Just for a few hours even. Forget the terrifying conversations he had overheard with Vor and Draven, forget the dragon, the quest, his aching head—

And above all forget that blasted dwarf king!

Turning over the hobbit snuggled into the mattress, feeling the heat of his face against the cool pillow. If only he could pretend he was back at home, safe and snug in Bag End, and didn’t have to worry about conspiracies or orcs or aggravating dark-haired royalty! Just for a little while. Just until he could get over this cold that he had.

A sneeze had him feeling around for his hoard of handkerchiefs stashed under his pillow for just such an occasion. Blowing his abused nose softly he missed Bag End with a fierce longing.

Laying there in that too-big human sized bed, he felt the past few months catching up with him. He was in a foreign human town, built out on an actual lake under the shadow of a great mountain that housed a dragon. There were no hobbits anywhere, no one who even understood his calendar system or culture, and virtually everyone was taller than him, save for very young children.

When he had last seen his reflection in the lake he had barely even recognized himself. His curls had grown out past a respectable length, lanky and dirty with who knows what. Dark bags now lay under his eyes and there was a notable bruise on his chin from something or other. Gone was his nice corduroy jacket, and instead he had a fur coat made for a human child.

Most distressingly, he hardly even recognized his body anymore. Instead of seeing nice, plump cheeks his face seemed drawn somehow. His waistcoat didn’t fall right any more (lost buttons aside) due to the lack of a round belly underneath it. Both his arms and thighs had an awful tightness to them, he could practically feel the bones of his rib cage when he pressed a hand to his chest.

He had lost so much weight it was nothing less than distressing. Certainly, he knew by other races hobbits were considered to be fat and chubby. But a nice round and soft body was something to be desired and treasured, and Bilbo had been proud of his. Now all he had was a distressingly small middle and nowhere near enough soft. 

 

All he wanted was to feel warm and safe, and just curl up and stop. Just _stop_. What he wouldn’t do for his parents in that moment. He had always wished for a companion, someone who he could love and would love him in return. Someone who he could call his. After his parents died there was no one who ever had such a deep connection to. 

He had waited and pinned, and eventually he had fallen back on the comfort of Bag End, full of the warmth of his parent’s love. It was a poor substitute to the love of another, but it was all Bilbo had, and so it was what he made do with. Over time he had convinced himself it was enough, and that he was happy.

 

Now he didn’t even have Bag End. 

When he shut his eyes he saw images of Vor and cruel men, faceless elves walking by as he cowered in the shadows, Azog backed by flames, his friends wrapped in spider cocoons, that awful creature in the goblin tunnels—

A small part of him silently bemoaned the fact that he always became so much more sensitive and dramatic whenever he was ill, but knowing a thing is not the same as being able to stop or un-feel it, regrettably.

Eventually he fell into a doze and then a light sleep, having a series of disturbing dreams between bouts of awareness. When the morning finally found him he was almost glad to get out of bed, so uncomfortable and achy he felt. 

Of course moving was almost more so, and the movement required in getting out of bed was simply unappealing. But, as every good hobbit knows, breakfast is the proper way to start off a morning, and even if his stomach did not feel up to the task, the scattered remains of his propriety demanded he see to it.

Perhaps just some tea would be nice and soothing, if nothing else.

 

He made his way downstairs slowly, feeling as if his nerve endings were either numb or on fire, everything was too sensitive and jarring yet muffled at the same time. Nose rubbed raw and head throbbing, even his feet even felt cold, which was always a bad sign for a hobbit.

Reaching the dinning room, he was greeted by the usual clatter and ruckus that just seemed to happen when a bunch of dwarves had a meal. Somehow it was far louder than it should have been this morning, for the hobbit’s head ached at the noise.

Of course as soon as the dwarves caught sight of their burglar, the noise only increased.

“Bilbo!”

“Master Baggins, what _happened_ last night?!”

“Why were you chasing after criminals?!”

“Are you alright?!”

The hobbit raised his hands weakly at the onslaught, “I was under orders—“

“Bard’s orders?!”

“Why was Thorin so angry, then?”

“Did you really expose a smugglers ring?”

“Quiet!” Oin roared and they all fell silent. “You lot will stop yelling at the lad, he looked under the weather yesterday, and if what my brother tells me is true he was even worse last night.”

“I’m standing right here, you know,” Bilbo said mulishly, crossing his arms over his stomach and sniffling.

“And ye look bloody awful!” 

“Let the lad sit down before you all pounce on him, for goodness sakes!” Added Dori, looking at the hobbit in concern.

“Here,” Bombur murmured, helping the wobbly hobbit into his seat and pouring him some tea. “You need something warm in you.”

“Thank you,” the hobbit mumbled around his clogged nose, cupping his hands carefully around the mug and pulling it closer. The warmth felt _wonderful_ and he sighed as it began to seep into his chilled fingers.

“You do look terrible, Bilbo,” Nori said, reaching over to prod at the hobbit. He glared and half-heartedly swatted at the dwarf.

“Thank you for the compliment,” he grumbled tiredly. Already he could feel his body wanting to lay down again, and his eyes felt so dry and heavy. Maybe he should try and take a nap after his tea.

“Did you really take on a human gang?” asked Kili, eyes wide.

“Of course he did,” proclaimed Gloin proudly. “Our Bilbo’s a fierce little thing.”

“Everyone in town has been talking about it,” Ori started excitedly. “Bard arrested a huge group of people last night for dealing illegal goods. They were working with orcs too!”

“Orcs?!” said Bofur, looking suddenly pale. “Bilbo took down a bunch of men and _orcs?!_ ”

“No no, I didn’t take anybody down.” The hobbit said, dragging a hand across his face and through his hair.

“Bard was here earlier today,” Dori said, looking at the hobbit with some concern. “We told him you were sleeping, but he wanted to thank you again.”

Bilbo blinked rapidly, trying to focus on the conversation and force his eyes from closing. “Did he catch everyone?”

“Nearly. Apparently a few of them managed to escape, the leaders by the sounds of it, but they know who to look for, now.”

“Oh.” 

Vor was still loose then. Draven too, most likely. And maybe even that orc. What was his name? Gurthuk? Gurtuk? Something like that.

What if they still tried to go after Bard? Or Thorin? The dwarf King was nowhere to be seen this morning, neither were Balin or Dwalin, so Bilbo asked after him.

“They’re out on official business,” said Ori. “Thorin said he wanted a talk with Bard.”

“Oh dear,” Bilbo sniffled. If their argument last night was any indication, Thorin was perhaps not too pleased with Bard at the moment. With any luck Balin would stop the King from undoing all of Bilbo’s hard work to get the bowman back into their favour.

“Bilbo,” Looking up, Fili was staring at him in concern. “What happened last night?” The dwarf said slowly.

“Ah…well, like I was saying,” Bilbo started, pulling out his handkerchief again. “Thorin told me to make amends with Bard, and as he’s been having some trouble lately with smuggling I said I would help him.”

“You mean to say, laddie,” said Oin, shooting the hobbit a hard stare, “That you followed that man last night because he was a smuggler?”

“Uhh…yeah. Bard’s guards couldn’t find their meeting spot, so I followed him and found it.”

“A meeting spot, full of smugglers?” Nori said slowly.

“Oh yeah,” Bilbo rubbed at his nose with his handkerchief. “Lots of them.”

“Bilbo!” The hobbit jumped at Dori’s sharp exclamation, head giving a sharp throb. “Lad, please tell me you were careful. You only found their hideout and went back, that was all, right?”

Bilbo cleared his throat, shifting in his seat. “That’s…what we agreed on, yes.”

“You went in, didn’t you?” said Bofur, looking both resigned and horrified.

“Ahh…” Bilbo coughed uncomfortably.

“Oh _Mahal!_ ”

“I told you to take it easy!” Oin shouted, apparently forgetting his earlier decree of no shouting at the hobbit. “This, was the exact _opposite_ , of that!”

“Getting in the middle of an underground smuggling ring!” Nori said, sounding a bit impressed as well as scandalized.

“What were you thinking?!”

“They could have killed you-if you were lucky!”

Bifur was saying something very dangerous sounding in Khuzdul and signing away angrily.

“Hang on!” Bilbo said as loud as he could, aggravating his sore throat as he did so and causing a sneezing/coughing episode that he buried in his sleeve. When he looked up blearily he realized the noise had all but stopped, and everyone was now looking at him in concern. Bofur was rubbing his back gently and Oin suddenly loomed in front of him.

“Alright, enough scolding the poor thing,” Oin proclaimed gruffly, crouching next to Bilbo. “Let me take a look at you.”

Bilbo rubbed at his eyes, and mumbled a “No thank you,” when Bombur pulled some sausages and fresh bread over.

“I’m sorry if I’ve upset everyone,” the hobbit said after a while, as Oin began his poking and prodding, “But I was asked to help and I don’t regret doing it. There was a plot take out the guards, and to steal the map and key from Thorin, before either killing the whole company or sending us all back to Thranduil.” He cleared his throat and rubbed at his arm, looking down at the table. “I can’t regret working to stop that.”

“And we respect you all the more for it,” said Bofur seriously, gripping his shoulder. “But we are goin’ to worry when our hobbit goes runnin’ off by himself in an unfamiliar town to stop a bunch o’ smugglers.”

“And you looked so sick last night, too, Bilbo,” said Kili quietly.

“Were you seen by anyone?” asked Nori suddenly. “When you found their hideout did they see you?”

“What? No…no one… _saw_ me.” Bilbo replied, thinking of Vor’s face when he had sneezed over by the barrel. Nori didn’t look much relieved by this news and squinted suspiciously at the hobbit.

“Stop pestering him” Oin said, pressing his ear trumpet against the hobbit’s chest, “Breath deeply, now.”

He tried, but with his stuffed nose and sore throat it was a rather poor attempt. The healer straightened up with a sigh. 

A deep heavy feeling slowly settled into the hobbit’s body, causing his eyes to droop shut as Oin worked and the others talked around him. A cough forced its way out, followed by another and another, hurting his throat awfully.

“Bilbo, lad.” Thick fingers lightly caressed his curls and he hummed sleepily in response. His body seemed beyond his control, like riding a pony that went a different direction than its rider, spinning slowly out and up—

“Come on, help me get him up.”

“What’s the matter with him?”

“Mr. Boggins?”

An arm carefully wrapped itself around his chest and he opened is eyes, unaware that he had closed them. His head was pressed against the table top, resting on his arm. Funny, he couldn’t recall doing that. 

“Is he sick?”

“Oin, what’s happening?”

“First get him back to bed. Poor thing is exhausted. He needs to be laying down and comfortable.”

He moaned as he was tugged upright by several hands, and dissolved into a coughing fit, trying to bury his mouth in his shoulder. Awareness returned and he forced his heavy eyes open, realizing he was surrounded by concerned dwarves all watching him carefully.

“M’alrigh,” he slurred out, whole body aching and weak, head spinning.

Bofur huffed a laugh, “Sure ye are. And I’m King o’ the Elves.”

“It’s back to bed with you, master hobbit,” Oin said sternly. “I would think you would have more sense than to go running around after bandits and the like at night in the cold!”

Bilbo frowned, blinking slowly and struggling to come back to awareness. “I had to. Bard needed my help. And besides, they were going to go after everyone.”

“You’ve done quite enough of saving everyone, lad. You need to look out for yourself for once.”

Before Bilbo could think of any kind of response, great, thick arms suddenly came around him, and he was pressed gently against a solid chest.

“Stop squirming,” Gloin said sternly, making his way upstairs with his softly protesting hobbit cargo.

“The lot of you can leave off!” called Oin when it looked like the whole group would follow them upstairs. “Our hobbit needs _rest_ and _quiet_. Not a bunch of you all trailing after and annoying him!”

 

Xxx

“Bofur, Bifur,” Thorin nodded at the two dwarves sitting on a bench over looking the lake. There was a small pile of wood at their feet and both were busy whittling away at something or other. “What are you two making today?”

Bofur smiled up at the King. “Well, I’m just carvin' a nice pipe here, see?” He presented his work with a flourish, allowing Thorin to pick it up and examine it. The dwarf and his family had been well known for their woodwork back in Ered Luin, and the quality certainly showed.

“It’s very fine, as is all of your work.” Bofur lit up at the compliment, taking the pipe back from Thorin when he offered it. “But why are you carving a pipe? I could have sworn you were using yours last night.”

“Oh, it’s for Bilbo," said Bofur casually, waving his hand. “His didn’t make it through the river and all. It’s really the least I can do for the little guy, after everythin'. Besides, he looked so properly miserable this mornin' when he came down for breakfast, I was hopin' to cheer him up.”

Indeed, now that he had a proper look at it, the pipe did look quite a bit like the hobbit’s old one. Except this one had more intricate carvings etched into it, and what looked like a bear on the side. Bilbo would no doubt love the thing. Thorin found himself scowling.

“And you, Bifur? How does the craft move you today?”

“Buttons,” grunted the dwarf in khuzdul, not looking up from his work. “Our hobbit’s lost most of his by now, and you know how he is about his waistcoat. They aren’t brass, but they’re useful. Might cheer him up.”

Thorin grunted, irritated for some reason. “Surely the hobbit can’t be that unhappy. Probably just tired or homesick. Missing his third breakfast or the like.”

“ _Second_ breakfast,” Bofur corrected automatically. “Or maybe you mean elevensies?”

“Elevensies?” asked the King in confusion.

“In between second breakfast and lunch” answered Bifur. 

“Ah.”

“But I think the poor lad is allowed to be homesick,” the toy-maker said, frowning. “He is awful far away from the Shire, after all. We’re all that he’s got for friendly company, anyhow. It wouldn’t be right to not try and make him feel better when he's down. If we don’t do well by him when he needs it, then who will?” The dwarf shook his head, oddly serious. “It’s not like he’s got kin, or even another hobbit to talk to way out here. Just us.”

“He’s pretty sick," Bifur commented, looking up at Thorin. "Barely made it downstairs this morning. Oin had him carted right back to bed. Hardly complained at all. Poor thing.”

Thorin bade the cousins goodbye and left the two with a strange tightness forming in his chest. The conversation kept replaying over and over in his head as he walked to the armory where he was to meet Dwalin, and he found himself pacing restlessly until his friend emerged.

“Dwalin,” he greeted, eager to chase the conversation from his mind. “How are the weapons looking?”

“Fine.” The two began their walk back to the house, streets lit with the muffled light of a morning in late autumn. “Not dwarven craft, but decent enough.”

They passed in relative silence through the town, humans going about their daily business and occasionally stopping to gawk or point at the strange dwarves of legend. 

“Good morning Uncle, Dwalin!” Fili and Kili were waving at them from the front of a stall.

“Fili, Kili.” Thorin nodded at the two, pleased to see them both well and keeping out of trouble. They grinned up at him.

“Check it out!” Kili said excitedly, gesturing over to the stand. “They’ve got all these cool kinds of foods and candy. Look! Caramel, sugar crystals, these nutty things!”

“Some of this is from the Iron Hills, uncle,” Fili added. “Or even further.”

“Great,” Dwalin grumbled. “The last thing we need is you two full of sugar.”

The younger prince openly grinned as Fili adopted a look of mock horror, “Dwalin! We are princes of the Royal line of Durin. I will have you know we are on an entirely selfless mission.”

“I don’t see how yerselves stuffed on candy is selfless.”

“It’s not for _us!_ ” Kili cried defensively. “It’s for poor Mr. Boggins.”

Thorin felt his mood that had risen upon seeing his nephews happy drop again suddenly, and Dwalin at his side stiffened.

“Awful sick he is,” said Fili, frowning. “He practically passed out when he came down this morning. I’m surprised he even made it downstairs on his own in the first place.”

“Aye, Oin’s worried,” added Kili. “We dwarves are strong beings, but hobbits? Who knows what could happen to him.”

“Sending Bilbo candy will hardly help with his cold.” Dwalin said gruffly, though they could tell he was concerned.

“It’s not a cold, he’s got a _fever_ , apparently.”

“He’s even lost his appetite,” said the blond prince, shaking his head. “I’ve never seen him not eat something, but he couldn’t even look at the food.”

“So we’re hoping something here might bribe him into eating, or at least be incentive for him to feel better so he can have them.”

“Poor little guy,” continued Fili, sighing. “He’s lost so much weight. You know he was so upset about that, apparently it’s a hobbity thing, they like a nice round figure.”

“It suited him so well!” Kili exclaimed, “I can understand why he’s upset over it. To think of our hobbit without his nice cuddly body.”

They parted with the brothers a little while later, the two wanting to do a thorough examination of the market to make sure they picked up the best for their ill companion. And all the while the strange tightness in Thorin’s chest got worse and worse and he suddenly found he very much wanted to be back at the house.

Dwalin too, seemed to pick up on his agitation, and unspoken they quickened their steps.

A few minutes later, Oin and Balin walked out of a shabby looking shop onto the street in front of them, carrying a few pouches.

“Thorin, good morning,” Balin greeted pleasantly, Oin nodding along beside him. “Everything is going well I hope?”

“So far, yes,” Thorin replied, somewhat stiffly. He had to suppress his irritation on stopping to talk. “Were you successful on securing more healing supplies?”

“Aye, they’ve got quite a stash here,” his adviser said, nodding. 

“It’s a good thing too,” added Oin. “I’ll need all I can get if he gets any worse.”

Stomach outright twisting, Thorin felt his mood drop even further. “He?”

“Our hobbit took a dunk in some water last night,” explained the medic. “He has a bit of a fever, but if he’s swallowed any water and it’s gotten to his chest it could take a bad turn. He’s coughing an awful lot as it is.”

“Bilbo hates water,” Thorin found himself saying, dumbly.

Balin gave a small chuckle, “I don’t think he went in because he wanted to, laddie.”

The king frowned, “A fever, you say?” at Oin’s nod he felt his throat tighten. “It isn’t…it’s not…” he cleared his throat a few times but to his frustration the words refused to come out. Thankfully Oin seemed to understand and took pity on him

“No, no, it’s nothing too serious, provided we catch it now. And provided he _stays_ in bed and doesn’t go running off anymore doing Mahal knows what,” Oin ended in mutter.

“Well,” Thorin said, finally finding his voice. “Balin, Oin.” He nodded at them both before spinning on his heal, Dwalin at his side, hastening back to the house.

They did not run. 

But it was a near thing.

xxx

When they finally made it back, Thorin’s mood had turned black. He had no time to admire the thin morning light, no smile to spare for what few children they passed, and not even a glance to send towards the Lonely Mountain peering over the tops of the houses.

Dwalin was silent at his side, his steady presence soothing even as his anxiety steadily grew. He was uncertain what he would find back at the house.

What he was not prepared for, was chaos.

As soon as he opened the door they were blasted with yelling. Chairs were overturned, there were clothes and blankets on the floor and the sound of heavy iron clad boots thumping hurriedly across the floor was coming from upstairs.

“ _What_ is going on?!” Thorin thundered, already pushed far past his usual emotional tolerance. How _dare_ they make such a ruckus with Bilbo as bedridden as he was.

“Thorin!” Gloin and Nori ran up to him, faces grave. He was prepared to shout and demand answers, but what they said next caused him to freeze.

“Bilbo’s gone!”

He blinked. “What?” the King said slowly. Dwalin growled lowly beside him. “He’s ill. An ill hobbit should not be allowed to wander around by himself—”

“That’s the thing—“

“Bilbo doesn’t have the good sense to take it easy!” Thorin continued, the suffocating pressure in his chest winding tighter and tighter, “He’ll want to do something foolish and end up hurting himself—and you say we don’t even know where he is? _How_ could you allow him to leave this house?!” Thorin ended in a yell, voice having risen steadily louder and louder as he went on.

In retrospect, the hobbit had been looking pale and drawn the night they had arrived in Laketown, and last night the little thing was shivering and coughing—

Thorin had yelled at him then. He had been scared when his company had told him their hobbit had gone chasing after some human criminal on his own, so he had shouted at the poor thing.

And now he was out there somewhere in this wretched town with an awful fever, and Thorin still hadn’t been able to speak to him properly or apologize for snapping at him last night.

“That’s because he didn’t leave out the front door!” cried Gloin.

“ _What?_ ” Thorin spun on the redhead, glaring. “Do you expect me to believe he _climbed_ out the window? In his state?”

“Bilbo did not climb out,” Nori cut in urgently. “He was _taken._ ”

All the blood drained from Thorin’s face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know that kidnapping tag? Yeah...
> 
> I'm almost done the next chapter! It should be up in a few days so don't hate me _too_ much (but some is understandable) ;)
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	4. Chapter Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And there are consequences to kidnapping a hobbit...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about that cliffhanger back there, that's the only one for this fic. ;)
> 
> Thank you all so much for all the comments and kudos! I promise I'll respond to the rest of the comments as soon as I have a minute, I've been really busy lately with exams and two reverse bang stories going on.
> 
>  
> 
>  **Warning** : The mild psychological torture tag. I've thought long and hard and decided 'temporary deprivation of a sense' was a bit more clear. Also, non graphic violence, near drowning, and some very nasty people saying nasty things.

“Oin put him to bed with a mild sleeping draft,” Gloin said, anger clear in his voice. “The poor lad said his throat and head hurt too much to get to sleep otherwise.”

They had shown Thorin the room where the hobbit had slept. It was a mess. There was mud on the windowsill and sides, and all over the shutters. The blankets on the bed had been forcibly thrown aside, some lying partially on the floor and others pulled completely from the mattress. Thorin found he could not look away from it, knowing that only a few short hours ago Bilbo had lain here, sick and miserable, trying to sleep.

“The mud,” growled Dwalin. “Mostly likely from his boots getting in and out. _Bastard_. I’d bet Bilbo didn’t make it easy for him.”

Thorin noted a faint tremor in his hands, and the tightness in his chest was stronger than ever. He was angry. Furious even. But his mind had cleared even as his heart raced as it did in the throes of battle.

“Nori,” he asked. “What do you know?”

“Last night Bilbo snuck into a smugglers ring,” the thief began, eyes running over and over the room, searching for anything they missed. “He followed one man there, named Vor, and overheard their plans. He then ran back and reported to Bard. The bowman and his guards managed to capture most of the smugglers, but the leaders got away, including Vor.”

“Did the smugglers know they had been watched?”

“It would appear so,” Nori said grimly. “Perhaps they had Bard followed and heard him talking of Bilbo. Whatever the reason, I’m certain this was the doing of the smugglers.”

“You’re saying,” Dwalin started, voice sharp, “That a bunch of dangerous _smugglers_ have Bilbo, and they know he was the reason they were caught?”

Nori sighed heavily and rubbed his eyes. “They weren’t trying to be discreet. Look at the mess they left all over the room. If they wanted to confuse us, they would have cleaned up. Made it look like he had just gone out for a walk. It’s clear someone climbed in and grabbed Bilbo. What’s damning is they knew his room.”

“What?” asked Thorin, tearing his eyes away from the crumpled bed.

“There’s no other sign of break-in in any other rooms of the house. Just this one. It’s unlikely they got lucky. Bilbo had said they were planning on taking out our company after dealing with the guards. They could have been watching the house all along.”

“Enough.” Thorin cut across harshly, trying to control his breathing. “Our hobbit is missing, our _sick_ hobbit is in the hands of some crime leader—we _find_ him. We find him _now_ and get him back.”

“Do we call on the aid of the master?” asked Dwalin.

“No. He would only help us on his own terms.”

“Bilbo said not to trust him,” Nori added.

Thorin’s hands clenched into fists. His eyes caught on a small piece of fabric poking put from under a rumpled pillow. It was a handkerchief. He inhaled sharply, chest giving a dull lurch. “Round up the others,” he barked. “We go to Bard.”

 

Xxx

 

Bard could not help them enough in their search.

For one, it was very likely the kidnappers were the wanted crime leaders. But more importantly, the bowman had grown fond of the hobbit and did not take the news of his kidnapping very well.

“They’ll want him alive,” said the man, looking impossibly grimmer. “It’s either for revenge or it’s to send a message. They attacked the smallest and most vulnerable member of your company.”

“How many people are we dealing with?” asked Dwain gruffly, arms crossed.

Bard sighed, wearily. “I can’t be sure. We rounded up at least twenty men last night along with a few orcs, but there could be more. There could be many more, not all of them were from Laketown. This is big. The smugglers were using the same trade route that we do for normal goods. They have contacts from Mirkwood and all the way down to Dorwinion. Possibly further.”

“The trade works as a chain, does it not?” intercepted Balin. “It relies on each contact to be in the right place at the right time in every location it flows through.”

“Just so,” agreed Bard. “Like our regular trade, if we refused to send goods up or down the river, Mirkwood would be cut off from Dorwinion wine and Dorwinion would be cut off from the Mirkwood exports.”

“So we focus on Laketown,” said Thorin. “We find the rest of the smugglers here and wipe them out. The trade will stop when no one can send it on.”

“I fear it may not be that simple,” began Bard, but he quickly help up a hand at Thorin’s fierce expression, “But that is certainly where we will start. Saving Bilbo is our priority. I fear being kidnapped is a poor reward for all of his help. I promise you that I will do everything in my power to get him back. It is only through helping me that he was taken in the first place.” The man sighed deeply and rubbed at his eyes.

Thorin made some sort of a strangled noise, hands clenching together tightly and glaring at the floor. “The fault is not entirely yours, bowman.” He gritted out. “I should have never asked him to regain your favour on my behalf.”

“You could not have known what I would ask of him,” said Bard, shaking his head.

“No,” agreed Thorin, “But I should have known he would go above and beyond what was necessary and do something foolish. I’ve never known him to refuse someone he feels he can help.”

_Why did you come back?_

_You don’t have one, a home. It was taken from you. But I will help you take it back if I can._

 

Balin laid a hand on the king’s shoulder, and Thorin vowed silently to himself then and there that he would see Bilbo Baggins safe again. It was the very least he could do for this hobbit that had given up so much on the offhand hope that he could help them take back their home.

Bard’s voice broke him out of his thoughts. “I have my guards out looking for the hideout as we speak. It’s a small town, the only thing that has saved them this far is the protection of the master, but even he cannot stop this if the people know they are smugglers. And working with orcs. Very few will be willing to turn a blind eye or be bribed into silence under the circumstances.”

“I have most of my company out searching as well,” said Thorin, collecting himself. He longed to be out there with them, but he knew they must be organized. They could not go into this blind. 

Not with Bilbo’s life on the line.

 

Xxx

 

It was his cold. His stupid, bloody cold had given him away.

Vor had seen him in the tavern. It wasn’t everyday that one saw a hobbit in these parts, and the man just happened to be looking at him while he was sneezing miserably into his handkerchief. The man hadn’t thought anything of hearing the same sneeze on his way to the warehouse, but once the black arrow went missing and he heard it again right beside him, well. He had figured it out.

Someone certainly had, as Bilbo found himself gagged and roughened up, bound to a chair with his hands tied behind the back of it and a thick, scratchy blindfold over his eyes. If his whole being wasn’t protesting so much at his treatment and general condition, he might have felt flattered that they considered him such a threat.

But as it was, he was only a small, sick hobbit, wishing dearly that this was all some awful dream and he was still safe and warm in bed.

It was certainly not warm and safe here. Wherever here was, anyway. There were wooden planks and the sound of water, but this being Laketown, that meant very little in terms of location. That is, assuming he was still in Laketown.

His ears twitched as the sounds of voices and footsteps sounded around him, and he pulled against his bonds even though all it did was chaff his skin. He supposed he should be thankful he was sitting down (even if the chair was dreadfully uncomfortable) but his head throbbed and he could all but feel the flush of fever radiating off from his face.

 

Bilbo shivered and swallowed dryly, fighting back a cough. They seemed content to leave him here for now, undisturbed. Aside from his initial abduction they had done fairly little to him.

He had been jolted awake by a clatter and a curse, and even as he was trying to rouse himself a foul smelling cloth was forced over his nose and mouth and he was pinned to the bed. Of course he struggled and kicked, but aside from landing a few good hits, the need to breath had won out.

The last thing he remembered was having a bag shoved over his head and steely, unforgiving arms grabbing at him before his vision blacked out.

Waking tied to a chair was one of his least favorite memories to date, and considering all of what he had been through these last couple of months, that was really saying something.

Vor had come over to gloat along with Draven, and they had been just about as unpleasant as you could imagine. Yet they were holding back. He’d only been kicked a little (and _how_ that hurt! His poor stomach was still aching from the impact and he cursed anew at those awful abominations called boots) and then just left to sit there like a trussed pig.

The thought of himself as a trussed pig made the fear that he was trying so hard to fight back creep up his spine and seize his limbs. His breath caught in his throat and he coughed, willing himself to be quiet as to not call unwanted attention to himself. 

They were planning something, that was for sure. And Bilbo would bet his mother’s best tea set that it would not be pleasant. They wouldn’t be content to let their captive just sit there, blind and scared forever.

He could only hope his dwarves were still safe, and prey to the Valar that someone was looking for him. The twisting feeling in his gut told him he would not be making it out of this one on his own.

Xxx

 

“We’ve found him!” Bard jumped to his feet as a guard burst into the room, and Thorin stopped his pacing to stare at the newcomer. Balin and Dwalin looked up from where they were seated in the corner going over a map of the town, Dwalin reaching for his axe.

“Where?” asked Bard urgently.

“Another warehouse, sir,” replied the guard, licking her lips nervously. “On the north end of town. There’s at least two dozen men there, from what we can tell so far.”

“The hobbit?” asked Thorin, needing to know and yet fearing the answer.

“He…he’s there,” replied the guard uncomfortably. “They have him bound and tied to a chair right in the middle of the place.”

Dwalin growled dangerously, gripping his axes and rising to his feet. “Then what are we waiting for?!”

“Wait, brother,” said Balin quickly, catching the warrior’s sleeve. “If we barge in, they’ll still have Bilbo. There’s no way we can get to him fast enough to stop them from doing him harm.”

“He’s already been harmed,” fumed Dwalin, but the warrior knew his brother was right. He had dealt with kidnappings before in Ered Luin and the top priority was always to get the victim safe and out of harm’s way before they could further be used as a hostage. But knowing it was _Bilbo_ made it harder to think.

“Have the place surrounded,” said Bard to the guard. “But _carefully_. Find out their layout and report back. Tell us immediately if anything changes.”

“Aye sir,” she gave a quick nod and left.

“We can get them surrounded easily enough,” started the bowman, “But all they have to do is threaten Bilbo and we’re powerless.”

“Then we’ll have to be swift,” said Thorin. “Take out the ones closest to him first, then take out the rest.”

Bard nodded slowly, “I have many skilled archers. If we can get them up onto the rafters of the warehouse they should have a clear shot. The problem will be getting them there unnoticed.”

“It’s dangerous,” said Balin heavily. “All it takes is for someone to look up at the wrong time and we’ve lost our advantage. We’ll need to pick off their guards just to get close enough, and something to keep their gaze elsewhere.”

Thorin closed his hand around the hilt of his sword, comforted by its weight. “We’ll get Nori. He’ll take care of any guards around the place and can doubtless find a way in. If the archers follow his lead, there should be no trouble.”

Dwalin grunted. “We’ll have a two-pronged attack. The archers cause confusion from above and keep them from getting close to Bilbo. Then another force charges them from the ground. Keep them disoriented and off guard.”

“A three-pronged attack,” Thorin said decidedly, meeting Dwalin’s gaze. “One party will focus solely on getting Bilbo out. They’ll go with the archers and make their move when they can.”

“Aye,” replied Dwalin, nodding at his best friend in silent agreement, “I’m with ye. We’ll ask around the company, see who else will want to join.”

 

Bard made an uncomfortable noise. “I cannot ask you to risk your lives when this is my responsibility-“

But Thorin cut the man off harshly, “That hobbit is part of my company. That makes him _my_ responsibility. I will personally see him safe, and take compensation against those who took him.”

xxx 

Closing his eyes behind his blindfold, Bilbo forced himself to calm down, and just focus on breathing. He was so scared, but he couldn’t give into it. Panicking would do him no good. 

He found himself thinking of Thorin. The stubborn dwarf king would surely know what to do in this situation. He’d probably be bored, even. Fear? Ha, not that one. He’d just be so thoroughly unimpressed with his kidnappers that they’d be glowered and intimidated into letting him go. 

Thorin. 

It was funny. If Bilbo was to die here, in this wretched cold building surrounded by cruel men who would delight in the hobbit’s tortured screams, he found he very much wished he could see Thorin again. 

Not that he would want the dwarf to be involved in such an awful situation, but if he could see any place or anyone, it was oddly the dwarf king we found himself stuck on. Not Bag End, not even his parents, but that stubborn oaf of a dwarf. 

Bilbo hoped he would be alright. That these men wouldn’t cause him and their company harm. 

Someone needed to make sure Thorin remembered himself and didn’t spend all day brooding off majestically into the distance or glaring. 

Bilbo had dared on occasion to dream that person could be him. 

But he wasn’t. And never would be now. Thorin would never know how the hobbit burglar he had contracted had pinned and mooned over his royal self, and perhaps that was for he best. 

But he wouldn’t let that stupid king down. No sir, this hobbit would be strong. It didn’t matter how scared he was, Bilbo refused to betray his King. 

His king? 

Well. 

Yes, if Bilbo was ever to have a king, it would certainly be Thorin. 

“Where is the key, halfling?” Vor asked him again, for what felt like the hundredth time. 

“What key?” asked Bilbo, both knowing full well what the man wanted. 

“I would cut out your tongue if I didn’t need you to talk!” the man raged, making as if to strike the hobbit and smirking as he flinched back. 

“I will sneeze on you,” Bilbo said, defiant. “It may be all I can do right now but I bloody well will do it.” 

“Oh, you would know better than to—“ 

_“Achooo!”_

Vor jerked back in disgust as the hobbit sniffled triumphantly, blinking his heavy eyes to try and stay focused, even if he couldn’t actually see anything beneath the wretched fabric of the blindfold. 

“Damn you, where is the key?!” Vor snarled, actually striking the hobbit this time causing the chair to totter precariously for a moment as Bilbo was nearly sent to the floor. 

Biting back a groan, the hobbit felt as if everything was spinning, the darkness adding to the helpless sense of disorientation. “A…key?” 

“You know very well which key, you useless little—“ the man cut himself off mid tirade. He breathed deeply and then suddenly chuckled. “Ah, I have forgotten. Halflings are said to be simple little creatures, after all. Not much different from rodents or pigs.” He reached down and petted Bilbo’s hair, much to the hobbit’s indignation. 

There was something wrong with this man. Something dangerous. 

“So why don’t we play a game instead, little rat?” the man leaned right down so his face was leveled with the hobbit’s, pinching Bilbo’s cheek condescendingly. “Something simple, for your little half-brain, hmm?” 

Bilbo couldn’t hold back a small cry as the chair suddenly lurched backwards, fear running through his veins like ice. Vor was dragging the chair across the wooden floor, each bump and uneven plank jolting the bound hobbit. He had no idea where he was, no idea where he was being taken or what was happening. He couldn’t move anything save his head, and his ears twitched as he tried to locate himself through sound alone, his world enveloped in the inky darkness of his scratchy blindfold. 

“Oh, don’t be shy now,” said Vor, voice light, “You’ll like this game.” He spun the chair, and for one moment Bilbo thought he was going to be sick everywhere. Vor slammed the chair back down and dragged it some more before stopping suddenly. 

“It’s a simple little game, really. Even you could understand it.” 

Bilbo fought his nausea down, trying to focus on the words the man was saying. He couldn’t stop shaking, from fear or from fever he could not tell anymore. 

“It’s called,” Vor began, smirking, _“‘Guess where the trapdoor is?’”_

Bilbo’s eyes widened in fear under his blindfold and he gave a hard, involuntary jerk. 

_Oh no_

_Oh please no_

Vor laughed cruelly and gave the chair a small nudge with his foot. “Let’s find out what’s behind you, little rat.” 

xxx 

Thorin could only watch in helpless fury as Vor hooked his foot around the chair leg and yanked it back, sending Bilbo falling backward to the floor. The blindfolded hobbit screamed and thrashed as the smugglers laughed and jeered. It was only Dwalin’s hard grip on his shoulders that prevented him from launching across the room and killing that scum— 

“Wait,” Dwalin hissed, voice dripping with barely contained fury. “Wait for the archers, then we _end_ them.” 

He forced himself back from the blood lust. Bilbo was still in danger. He could be of no help if he moved before they were ready. The hobbit was lying on his side, still tied painfully to the chair. He was breathing too fast and shaking, his bound hands trying desperately to free themselves and only further chaffing his wrists. 

“What’s the matter?” Vor asked, placing his boot on Bilbo’s face and rubbing it into the blindfold, “You got lucky this time. It was only a little fall. But then again, for a halfling, I suppose it was a rather _long_ distance.” 

Thorin could feel his fingernails drawing blood from where they were clenched into fists. The man reached down and dragged Bilbo up by his hair, drawing a pained gasp from the smaller being. He harshly slammed the chair back down on its legs again making the hobbit’s head whip back sharply as it was righted. 

“Now, let’s try this again, shall we? Where. Is. The. Key?” 

Bilbo was breathing laboriously, visibly trying to collect himself after the jarring shock of hitting solid ground when he was sure it’d be swirling water. He choked, and let out a series of wet, hacking coughs, head hanging as his chest heaved. 

“Well, halfling,” asked Vor, prodding the bound creature with his sword, smirking as his bonds prevented him from pulling away from the jab. “Do you want to play again?” Bilbo moaned and mumbled something too lowly to be heard. “What was that? Loud and clear now, little rat.” 

“The…key. I-It’s…” 

“Where? _Where is it?!”_

“At-” he coughed again, hunching in on himself as his small frame shook. “At the…bottom of the lake.” 

Vor froze, narrowing his eyes. “What?” 

“…It’s at the bottom of the lake,” Bilbo replied, voice stronger. “Why don’t you jump in and get it?” 

_SLAP_

Vor’s arm flung back and he slammed his fist into the hobbit’s face, sending him and the chair flying to the ground again. 

“I will enjoy killing you, little rat,” the man said, walking up and giving the chair a leisurely kick, further jolting Bilbo who gave a sharp cry followed by a painful sounding cough. Vor watched the hobbit indifferently. “It will be long and slow. But don’t worry. You’ll see your friends before the end. In fact, maybe I’ll even keep you for very last.” 

Vor gave a sharp command to some of the men watching from the side, and they hauled the hobbit back up harshly, disorienting him awfully without his vision. 

“If the key really is at the bottom of the lake, why don’t you go and fetch it for us?” 

The men dragged his chair over to the trapdoor, Bilbo twitching and jerking as he tried desperately to orient himself through his blindfold and pounding head. 

He was so dizzy. He didn’t want to die here. 

They had been waiting for a clear shot. It had taken the archers some time to arrange themselves precariously on the rafters so they could take aim at everyone within a close radius of the hobbit without shooting Bilbo. But now they had no time. 

Vor might not mean to kill Bilbo yet, but he was angry. 

And if Thorin knew that hobbit, he knew a sudden push into freezing cold water was the absolute worst thing for Bilbo’s already fragile state. Just looking at the hobbit shaking and pulling helplessly against his bonds was more than he could bear. 

The chair stopped, right up against the edge of the trapdoor. They could all hear Bilbo’s ragged breathing over the jeers and excited calls of the smugglers below. 

“Let’s play again, little rodent,” Vor lent down so he was level with the hobbit’s head, leaning in close. “Either you tell me where the key is, _now_. Or you can guess what’s behind you. You’ll find out the answer soon enough. What do you think it could be?” 

Thorin’s chest lurched as the man gave the chair a little push, sending it tipping on its back legs for a moment before falling back into place. Bilbo’s breath caught in a near whimper, fingers scrambling uselessly behind him where his hands were tied. 

And then they were moving, finally, arrows whistling through the air as the archers shot at the men below. Thorin glared triumphantly down at the smugglers, gripping his sword and readying to jump. 

_Finally._

But as he felt everyone around him readying themselves to enter the fray, and the smugglers broke out in cries of pain as arrows hit their mark—his gaze was dragged back to Vor. 

The man was yelling, an arrow sticking out of his arm. 

Yet it had not felled him. And even as Thorin watched in horror he did not move away from the bound hobbit, but staggered towards him, hitting the chair with his leg and sending it toppling backward, Bilbo helplessly screaming— 

_No_

Thorin didn’t feel himself jump, didn’t feel the heavy impact of his landing on the ground or hear the battle going on around him as the guards barged in through the doors. 

Next thing he knew he was plunging into the water, icy cold swirling all around and above, clothes and boots weighing him down as it bore down on him. 

But he didn’t feel it. All Thorin could feel was the panicked beating of his heart at the terrified expression of his hobbit as he fell backwards through the trap door into the lake. 

His eyes picked out a bulky mass sinking deeper, great bubbles swirling in its wake. Kicking his legs, he forced his body to move through the swirling darkness of the lake. Stretching his arm out he reached, and grasped the wooden back of the chair. Dragging it and Bilbo back, he got a firm grip with both hands and changed direction, kicking up with all his might against the heavy press of the water and the weight of the chair. 

The chair tried to drag him down, down into the freezing depths lake. Thorin simply tightened his grip, forcing his legs to propel him back towards the surface and ignoring his burning lungs. 

_Hold on Bilbo_

_I have you_

Gasping, he broke the surface, heaving his arms up to bring the chair above water. Bilbo gave a spluttering gasp as he emerged, choking and coughing in the frigid air, unable to keep himself afloat while bound to the chair. Thorin grabbed a knife from his belt and lent down, keeping Bilbo firm against his body as he quickly sliced away the ropes securing the hobbit. 

Dropping the knife, uncaring as it sunk, he gripped Bilbo close, carefully keeping his head above water as he pulled him away from the chair, letting the thing sink beneath them. 

He could feel the little being struggling to breathe in quick panicked breaths, still coughing, body jerking and shuddering desperately between the freezing water and the chilly breeze on its surface. He had to get him out. 

“Thorin! Here!” 

A hand appeared from above through the trap door and he grabbed it, tucking Bilbo securely against him. The hand pulled them upwards, and one hand became two, and two became many, and then Thorin was dripping on the wooden planks of the warehouse. The company formed a barrier around their king and hobbit, shielding them from the fighting and shouting of the battle. 

But all that Thorin noticed was the sodden creature shaking and coughing limply at his side. 

Struggling into a sitting position, he pulled an unresistant Bilbo onto his lap and against his chest, pulling off the hated blindfold covering those hazel eyes. 

Bilbo gasped, sight flooding back into his senses. Blinking rapidly his breath continued to come in quick, choking little gasps, the shock of the freezing water and the fall too much for his already weakened body. Shivering uncontrollably, he tried to get his bearings. 

There was a figure leaning over him. Someone familiar. Someone safe. 

“…T-T-Th-Thor….” Throat closing in on itself and teeth clattering, he convulsed into a coughing fit. His limbs wouldn’t move. He couldn’t breath. Couldn’t see. Water was closing in around him from all sides, he was sinking, sinking— 

“Shhhh….” A large, warm paw of a hand caressed the back of his head and tucked him firmly against a solid, warm chest. “You are _safe_ , Bilbo,” a deep, soothing voice rumbled from above him into his curls. “I have you.” 

He was being rocked softly back and forth, a large hand rubbing up and down his back, forcing warmth into his trembling limbs. He slumped into the hold shivering at the delicious warmth, shutting his eyes and trying to control his breathing, to focus only on the deep voice and the soothing motion. 

Everything was spinning. His head throbbed awfully and his throat stung. There was something wrong with his chest. He couldn’t focus. He had never felt so weak before in his life. 

“Let me see him.” Oin was suddenly there, kneeling down and gently turning the hobbit towards him. Thorin resisted for a moment before giving in, letting the healer turn Bilbo onto his back but keeping his arms firmly around the smaller body, unable to let go. 

He was vaguely aware of the fighting going on around him. Dwalin was standing over them protectively, cutting down any human or orc who dared approach. Beside him was Dori, and Bifur and Bofur and— 

“Bilbo, laddie, can you hear me?” The hobbit let out a small moan, mumbling something and turning his head back into Thorin’s chest. Oin had a hand on the little creature’s forehead, a frown heavy on his features. 

“His system’s had a bad shock,” Oin murmured, “And he’s burning up. We need to get him out of here now.” 

Thorin knew this. But he was loath to give the hobbit up now that he was finally safe in his arms. His fingers tenderly brushed aside the dripping curls from the hobbit’s forehead, and his chest tightened at the heat radiating out from it. 

“Of course,” he murmured, pressing the hobbit close as he looked up, finding his whole company had formed a protective ring around them. 

“Bifur, Dori!” He called, everyone having decided before hand on who should do which tasks. Both dwarves were at his side instantly. 

Thorin tenderly pressed the sodden bundle into Bifur’s waiting arms, his hand lingering a long moment over Bilbo’s chest. “Get him back to the house.” 

Bifur nodded solemnly, tucking the hobbit protectively against his body. Dori flanked him and gave a sharp whistle, Balin, Oin and Gloin immediately forming a circle around Bifur. Thorin watched as they charged through the fighting, taking the barely conscious hobbit out of the warehouse and onto the street. 

Thorin released a deep breath, rising from his crouch. Bilbo was safe. There was only one more thing he had to do. His hand found his sword, taking satisfaction in the way it sung as it was unsheathed. 

“The rest of you, with me!” he cried, turning his darkened eyes now to the battle around him, and the men that had hurt his hobbit. “We will show this scum that we protect our own!” 

And with the deafening cries from his fellow dwarves he let his blood lust burn through his veins and leapt into the fray. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They messed with the _wrong hobbit._
> 
> Next Chapter: Follow-up fluff and the aftermath.


	5. Chapter Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aftermath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really can't believe how many kind people have stopped to leave comments and kudos! Thank you all so much for supporting me, and I'm happy to finally leave you all with the final chapter.
> 
>  **Warnings:** There is a LOT of fluff in this chapter. But be warned that a character does have some bad flashbacks from the last chapter, and at one point feels very threatened and unsafe (even though they are in no actual danger)

_Water swirled around him, dark and deadly, sucking him down, down…_

_He was going to die. Drowned in a freezing lake, unable to move, unable to breathe, heart pounding frantically and blood rushing through his ears, a dull roar of sound._

_A terrified sob caught in his throat and he choked, expecting to feel the precious air forced out of his lungs and thick, deadly water to come rushing in—_

Nothing.

It was warm. Somehow it was warm and soft and still and blessedly _dry_.

Bilbo groaned, turning his face to flop weakly against something wonderfully fluffy. A pillow? There were voices, though his head was too muddled to make out anything as complicated as words. Everything was fuzzy and odd and _achy_. A large, dry hand cupped his check and gently turned his face away from the pillow. Before he could do more than scrunch his brow together unhappily something deliciously cool draped over his forehead. He sighed in relief, noticing for the first time how hot his face felt, and pressed gladly into whatever it was. A cloth? Another was maneuvered gently under his neck, causing the hobbit to all but moan at how wonderful it felt against his hot skin.

Something rubbed against his chest. Through his awfully clogged nose and pounding head a familiar scent somehow came to him. What was that? It was strong and almost spicy...horseradish? Oh. Was somebody eating? Only, the thought of food did not seem to sit right with his stomach at all. No, no food right now. Take it away, please.

Eyes flickering open, he could just barely make out dark, blurry shapes hovering over him and the warm glow of a fire. Dim though it was, it did nothing to spare the ache in his eyes when they opened. He groaned and squeezed them shut again. Too _bright_. His chest felt strange, tingly and warm and tight, and when he breathed in through his clogged nose it hurt, a sharp, bright pain in the middle of his chest. 

“Shhh…” came a low voice from above.

But someone was eating. He would _not_ shush...no matter how nice and soothing that voice was. A thought nagged at the back of his head. Wasn’t there something he had to do? An urgent something..? He had to...tell them to stop. With the horseradish. Because it was urgent. No. Please no food. It would make an awful mess of the nice floaty bed. And the hobbit was in no mood to have to clean it up.

His tongue felt so thick and heavy when he tried to voice his protest, and his throat was so scratchy that all he managed to do was give a deep, painful cough that rattled his poor chest awfully and left his head and throat aching horribly. Oh, and there was the rest of his body. A dull throbbing ache hung around his ribs, and his ankles and wrists felt tingly. A pathetic almost twitch was all he managed when he attempted to move. By the gardens, but he was _tired_.

“…not too strong?”

“Those bastards nearly punctured a lung! It’s a wonder they didn’t…”

“…keep the poultice every…”

“…swallowed too much freezing water...can’t risk it with that fever…”

The lovely cloth on his forehead lifted away, and he tried to voice his complain but all that came out was a pitiful whine. Goodness. He sounded his little niece Primula’s kitten when it fell in the river that one summer. It was fine, but it had to be fished out of the water. Poor little thing, it had mewled so miserably all wrapped up in blankets, its little whiskers dripping and its fur all sodden.

The cloth was back, even cooler than it had been before against his burning forehead and he blinked blearily up at whoever had been so kind, trying to express his gratitude but finding his tongue thick and utterly useless in his attempts at speech and his chest protesting painfully at his attempts to cox out his voice. 

“ _Shhh,_ ” came again, low and deep and close. It really was a lovely voice. “Rest now, Bilbo. You are _safe._ ” The cloth was gently tugged down to cover his eyes, blocking out his blurry vision. He moaned at the feel. It was so cool and dark and _wonderful_ against his dry and heavy eyes.

But he couldn’t go to sleep yet. Someone was eating and there was that very important thing that he had to do, and wasn’t he a respectable hobbit who couldn’t go to sleep when there were things to do…? Urgent things…

Oh…was that someone humming?

That was very nice…very...nice indeed…

Xxx

When next he was aware of himself, Bilbo felt warm. Too warm. And his head was throbbing horribly. Cracking an eye open he groaned at the stab of light and promptly squeezed it shut again.

“Bilbo? Laddie, you with us?” came a soft voice.

“Wh—“ Bilbo managed to rasp out before coughing painfully. Oh, did his chest _hurt._

“Easy there.” Large hands began to prop him up against the headboard. It was astonishing just how awful he felt, every movement, every slide of his skin against the blankets a silent ache, each breath a bright grating pain in his chest. A deep-set exhaustion lay over him, creeping right into his very bones. Something clenched in his stomach and he tried to curl in on himself miserably, head heavy and aching. “Come on now, easy does it,” cautioned the voice.

Biting back a pitiful whine, the hobbit was gently raised upright, the pillow against his back almost painful against the too hot prickling of his skin. A hand gently cupped his jaw and tilted it upwards. “Bilbo. Lad, I need ye to look at me. Do ye know who I am?”

Squinting blearily revealed a large, blotchy someone in front of him. His body gave an involuntary jerk backwards at the proximity, bracing himself against the blow sure to follow—

What? 

No, this person isn’t dangerous. 

“Alright, never mind that now,” the person sighed. His fingers were gently curled around something warm and smooth. A mug. “I need ye to drink this, and then I promise ye can go back to sleep.” Bilbo squinted again at the figure as large hands covered his own and brought the mug up to his mouth, coxing him to drink.

“Oin?” he rasped out. The dwarf beamed at him.

“Aye.” The tea was strong and bitter, reminding him instantly of the awful herbal remedies his mother swore by and used to force on him when he was sick, his father wringing his hands and hovering anxiously all the while. “It’s good to have you back.”

The hobbit frowned. Back? Where had he gone? “What…?” 

_Cruel voices laughing and jeering from the dark—_

_the chair drags backwards against the wooden floor—_

_Hands pulling helplessly against the ropes as he'd fallen—_

_Water, cold and dark, sucking him down, down—_

With a gasp he remembered, and it was only Oin’s hands covering his own that stopped him from sloshing tea all over himself. “Easy, _easy,_ ” the old dwarf soothed, taking the mug and placing it on the nightstand. His heart was pounding loudly in his ears, hands shaking.

“What—what happened? Where’s—“

“Shhh, lad. You’re alright now, you’re safe.”

“But Vor, and the others—Thorin, Thorin was there, and—“

“Bilbo. Calm down. Everyone is fine. See?”

As his eyes began to adjust he could just make out more blurry forms, slumped against the wall, on a chair, a few in front of the fireplace. Then it hit him. Snoring. The whole room was filled with very familiar snoring made by very familiar dwarves.

“Oh,” he breathed, slumping back in relief. They were here. Safe. The smugglers hadn’t gotten to them.

“See laddie? Perfectly safe. Tried to get this lot to move out but they wouldn’t hear of it,” chuckled Oin, gently running a hand through the hobbit's curls and checking his temperature. “Now have a bit more tea and then back to sleep with ye.”

Sleep sounded wonderful, and though he was sure laying down would make his body ache even more, the strain of remaining upright suddenly seemed too much to bear. 

Something nagged at him, the thought of sleeping in a bed in this room troubling somehow. That's right. Bilbo felt his eyes drag over to the window, a quiet fear lurking in his mind of someone there, watching him, waiting to creep inside and—

“Why’s…window gone?” he croaked out, staring at the wall where he was sure it had been.

“You’re in Thorin’s room, laddie. It’s the only room in the house without a window, and it’s got the biggest bed and fireplace.”

“Oh.” A warmth blossomed in his chest that had nothing to do with the tea. Or his fever. He hopped. “That…that’s really…too much...” he mumbled, drained. 

“Nonsense,” he barely felt Oin taking the mug from his hands or being laid back down. “None of us want to take any chances with your safety again, Master hobbit. Rest now”. He was asleep before his head hit the pillow.

Xxx

Bilbo’s fever spiked dangerously around midday. And Thorin could do nothing but watch as the hobbit’s body was ravished with it, face flushed and pale, sometimes thrashing weakly in delirium, other times as still as death, only the heavy, labored breaths giving any sign of life. Due to a broken rib, the hobbit had to be held down when he moved too quickly out of fear of doing more damage to his chest and lungs. Thorin didn’t think he would ever forget the feel of too thin wrists straining under his hold, the gentle face twisted in pain, each cry and whimper like a knife twisting in his heart.

Bilbo was a hobbit. Of course he was naturally smaller and less stout than any of his companions. Thorin knew this, had known for months and accepted it as a different in their species. But laying so still on the huge human-sized bed, he appeared as nearly a child. The sheer damage done to him seemed all the worse.

The fever they knew would have been threat enough on its own. But the plunge into icy water and the emotional strain had only made it worse. He had swallowed a fair bit of icy water, leading Oin to worry for an infection in his lungs. His whole chest had blossoming in dark bruises, many in the tell tale shape of a boot. It was almost a blessing he had only broken _one_ rib. A few scattered puncture wounds made up the rest of the damage, as well as the painful chafing around his wrists and ankles from the rope, and a dark bruise on his cheek.

“Thorin,” came Ori’s tentative voice from the doorway. “It’s Bard, he’s come asking to see Bilbo. He looked really upset,” the young dwarf added as Thorin ripped his gaze away from the too-small, blanket-covered form on the bed. He rose and stormed towards the door.

“Thank you, Ori,” he ground out, nodding respectfully at the scribe.

The bowman was standing in the entrance way, Gloin and Bombur blocking his way further into the house, hands resting casually on their weapons. While the rational part of his brain knew the bowman meant no harm, Thorin could not help but be glad at the sight of his companions. They had all been on edge the last few days. No one was willing to take _any_ chances.

“Bard.” The man’s head shot up when Thorin entered. Though it had been two days since they had rounded up the smugglers (and Thorin had pulled a near drowned Bilbo from the lake), Bard was looking worse for wear, sporting new bags under his eyes. 

“Master dwarf,” he greeted, inclining his head. “How is Master Baggins?”

Giving a nod to Gloin and Bombur, he drew the man into a more private room. “What would you have me tell you,” started Thorin lowly. “That he has woken but once, and is nearly delirious with fever?”

Bard let out a pained sigh. “You must understand that I feel somewhat responsible for his current state. And that from what I know of his character I admire his courage, and would not wish him any harm even if I didn’t have a hand in his condition.”

“You have your news,” Thorin growled darkly, “Now be on your way.”

“Will you let me see him for just a moment? Or at least let me see him when he has recovered enough to take visitors?”

“Why should I?” asked the dwarf, eyeing Bard suspiciously. “Why do you wish to see him while he is so vulnerable?” The man raised his hands in placation.

“Peace, I mean your hobbit no harm. I only ask to see him. This whole Town owes him their gratitude for helping us capture such dangerous criminals. I also owe him my sincerest apologies and gratitude, if he would have them.”

“I’ll be sure to tell him so—“

“In-person. An apology is nothing if not said in-person to the one who was harmed.” Something in the man’s expression seemed chastising, and with a pang Thorin realized that what had started this whole mess was his own requesting of Bilbo to apologize to Bard on his own behalf. His nostrils flared at the slight jab, though he felt a rush of shame at the reminder.

“And yet harm has befallen him,” he ground out. Bard let out a frustrated sigh and rubbed at his brow wearily. Thorin watched him, unmoved, still seeing Bilbo’s small, still form on the backs of his eyelids. 

“I believe we had already discussed how we were each to blame for Master Baggins’ current state.” 

“Then what more needs to be said?” asked Thorin curtly, done with the conversation. A nervousness had taken residence in him in the past few days, a niggling fear that as soon as he let Bilbo out of his sight some further harm would befall him. It certainly had proven true recently. The hobbit’s fever had spiked just a few hours ago when the dwarf had gone out briefly. What if it was doing so again right at this very moment? And Thorin was standing here, exchanging petty words with a human. “You will forgive me if I am less than eager to have any outside of my company near Master Baggins in light of recent events. Now be off.”

“I understand your reasoning,” continued Bard, stepping slightly in front of the dwarf to halt his exit. Thorin had to suppress the sudden violent urge to shove past the man. “And I am truly sorry for his state. If I could take it back…well, what’s done is done. I have no ulterior motives Master dwarf. I merely wish to ensure the hobbit knows the good his actions have caused, and that he is valued. Perhaps I also wish to see him with my own eyes and know that he is well, for his state sits heavily on my conscience,” the man finished with a wry smile.

“You won’t find such comfort here.” Bard straightened, his face hardening.

“It seems we are at odds yet again. I have caused one of yours grievous harm. And yet you _still_ intend to march on the mountain and endanger every life within this town. My own children included.”

Thorin glared darkly at the man, holding his gaze in challenge. Yet it was the dwarf’s turn to sigh and look away. “I do not wish to have you as an enemy, bowman,” he conceded, tiredly. “Should we reclaim the mountain we will need as many allies as we can get. Trade is integral if we are to survive the winter, let alone restore Erebor to her former glory. All the lands around would prosper as they used to should we start up the trade fully again. I would gladly welcome an alliance and an exchange of goods and service between our people, and to see this Town return to the prosperous center of trade in the north it once was.” 

“I too should like that," agreed Bard. "And yet the dragon is still in your mountain, and my people remain as easy prey for his sport should he emerge,” the man said quietly. Thorin met his heavy gaze with one of his own and conceded a nod. Both man and dwarf were silent.

“Tell me this,” Thorin eventually bit out. “The smugglers. Are the leaders still alive?”

Bard hummed affirmatively, “All three sustained injuries, but none fatal. We need them alive if we are to have any hope of uncovering the rest of the network. Even the orc. Once word gets out of their capture, fellow conspirators may try to break them out. Or kill them before they can talk. Either way, it is good bait.”

“If you grant me the one man, _Vor_ , I will to do everything in my power to restore the glory of Esgaraoth and Dale of old.” Bard looked at Thorin sharply, finding hard eyes glaring back. 

“As much as that scum deserves whatever you’d do to him, I cannot, as a guard of Laketown, allow the wronged to take out their vengeance on a criminal,” replied the bowman wryly. “It goes against our laws and civilities—“

“I do not ask as a mere civilian,” Thorin drew himself up to his full height and raised his head proudly. “I ask as a _King_ , seeking justice for harm done unto one of his own.” The bowman’s eyes widened in understanding. “Once I reclaim the mountain, I ask that Vor be judged in _my_ Kingdom, in _my_ court, and face whatever punishment is deemed severe enough for one who has harmed a _khuzdibah_ , a dwarf-friend, as well as a Valued Adviser of the King.”

Bard nodded slowly, “Aye. I can grant that. Provided that your mountain is reclaimed, of course.”

“Of course,” agreed Thorin, inclining his head. “By all means, use the man as your bait for now. But when the time comes, I _will_ have him at my mercy.”

xxx

Two days later Mister Baggins was finally awake, and even _coherent_ , much to the delight of his companions. His companions who immediately took it upon themselves to storm into the hobbit's room and pile him with apologies, praises, well-wishes and demands that he never do such a reckless thing like that _ever_ again, for Mahal’s sake!

“You do realize that I’ve been doing nothing but reckless things for the last couple of months now?” asked Bilbo, smiling as he reclined weakly against a pillow, voice gravely and thick with his sore throat and stuffed nose. “Typically for the benefit of the company?”

“Which we’re all very grateful for, of course,” said Balin, fixing the sickly hobbit with a stern glare “But you’re to let someone know before you go running off and trying to get yourself killed.”

“I did,” Bilbo insisted, sniffling his stuffed nose. “I let everyone know.”

“Oh yeah,” agreed Kili sarcastically, “You said ‘by the way, I’m about to go chase after a dangerous criminal all on my little hobbit lonesome. See you later—If I don’t end up dead in a lake or anything that is! Goodbye!’ And then you ran off!” the archer finished, sending an accusing pout at the hobbit. Bilbo glowered mulishly back at the young dwarf, rubbing at his abused nose with a handkerchief.

“That’s an exaggeration,” he scowled, turning his head to the side and blowing his nose softly. 

“Bilbo’s right,” agreed Gloin, “He said _much_ less than that.” There was aloud chorus of agreement followed by many a reproachful look cast at the hobbit.

“Oh shove off you lot,” grumbled Bilbo, coughing and trying to hide his wince as it jostled his sore ribs. “I’ve already been beaten up _plenty_ for my troubles, thank you. Last thing I need is to get it from you all as well.”

“We would never!”

“Of course not!”

“Now Bilbo, you’ve got it all wrong,” said Bofur, leaning over to give the hobbit a (very gentle) knuckle to his curls, grinning unabashedly at the hobbit’s best death-glare sent the miner's way. “When we beat you up it’s because we _care_ about you. Besides,” the dwarf continued cheerfully, poking the smaller being softly in the shoulder, “You’re one of us now, aren’t you? And we dwarves always look out for our own. Ain’t that right, lads?”

“That’s right!”

“Hear, hear!”

“Baruk-khazad!”

“Three cheers for Burglar Baggins!”

“Oi!” shouted Oin, “Stop yelling around my patient! He’s barely woken up yet, last thing he needs is you lot shouting at him.”

“Sorry.”

“Mr. Boggins, we’re sorry!”

“That…that’s quite alright,” Bilbo managed, feeling quite overcome. There was a pang in his chest and spreading warmth that had nothing to do with his fever. It moved upwards, colouring his ears and cheeks with what was sure to be a brilliant blush. 

“Mahal, he’s turning red!” cried Kili in distress, “His fever’s picking up again!”

“Quick! Get some more snow!” called Ori.

“No lad, that’s the wee thing blushing,” said Gloin, smirking at the mortified hobbit.

“What? Why would he be blushing?”

“Are you sure?”

“How can we tell?”

“Mr. Boggins, are you blushing?”

“He sure looks cute like that, doesn’t he?”

“Enough,” barked Dwalin, immediately quieting the group. “Don’t tease Master Baggins,” the dwarf declared threateningly. Bilbo frowned.

“Really Dwalin, it’s alright, they didn’t—“

“It’s not his fault he blushes like a wee flower,” continued the dwarf, smirking.

“Oh ha ha,” replied Bilbo, rolling his eyes as the dwarves all laughed, “I suppose you think you’re funny.” He sniffed, then sneezed, pulling out his abused handkerchief and blowing his equally abused nose for what must have been the ten thousandth time that day.

“Be that as it may, our hobbit is still unwell,” Thorin had been watching the proceedings quietly up until now, choosing to linger near the back and keep a careful eye on their smallest member. “And he needs peace and quiet and _rest._ ” 

Bilbo met the dwarf King’s eyes cautiously. He remembered the argument they had the night he had followed Vor. Those words had stung. But Bilbo also remembered Thorin as a steady, comforting presence, in that horrible warehouse, _cutting his bonds, pulling him out of the water, shivering and half drowned—_

“And it is the wish of us all that he has a speedy recovery, and returns once more to full health,” finished Thorin softly, breaking Bilbo out of his thoughts. What the hobbit saw in the dwarf’s gaze he couldn’t say, but it was something so fragile and warm, he could barely look away.

“Quite so,” agreed Balin, smiling.

“Hear, hear!”

“Quit it with the shouting already!”

“Sorry Mister Boggins!”

“Come on now, we’ve embarrassed the lad enough for today, let him get some rest!”

Xxx

Thorin had requested a private word with Bilbo later that day. And so Bilbo found himself alone with Thorin. For the first time after…well, after all of _that._

The last time it had been just the two of them, the dwarf had told Bilbo to go and make nice with Bard. So perhaps it was understandable that the hobbit was somewhat apprehensive about this little private meeting. He was comforted by Nori’s presence just in the hallway, officially there in case of any danger (which was ridiculous, but his dwarves were beyond paranoid these days) and unofficially there to break up any potential arguments between their burglar and King. After all, Bilbo had just recovered enough to be awake for any length of time, an epic argument would not be helpful at all.

Another even stranger comfort was that Thorin appeared to be just as apprehensive as Bilbo was about this. 

“I have spoken with the bowman.” Thorin stood, hands clasped behind his back, shoulders straight, looking very regal and formal. Yet his eyes would dart up to Bilbo where he was reclining in bed, and then dart back down to his boots, scowling.

“Y _es?”_ prodded Bilbo. When the dwarf remained silent he added, “Was this recently, or..?” Thorin cleared his throat.

“Recently.” Something about the way he said it told Bilbo that it hadn’t been a terribly pleasant conversation. He sighed, and coughed as discreetly into his sleeve as he could manage. Considering the state of his throat it was not very discrete at all, but well, it was the though that counted.

“Please tell me you two have made up? I did not go through all of that just to have you start a new grudge with the man.”

“He put you in danger,” Thorin returned heavily.

“ _I_ put me in danger. I knew it was risky, and I did it anyway,” the hobbit crossed his arms and sniffled, digging out a new handkerchief from his stash under the pillow. “We owe this Town quite a lot, disturbing things and accepting their hospitality when we have nothing to offer in return except for the _possibility_ of repayment. Assuming we don’t all get fried to a crisp and set a dragon down on them.”

“That does not mean that you should have pitted yourself alone against a smugglers ring.” 

“Look, I wanted to help, alright? And not to blow my own horn, but how many people do you know who have a means to turn invisible? Nori is amazing at what he does, but entirely invisible?” Bilbo pressed when the dwarf continued to look troubled. 

“Nori is a trained professional.” 

“And I am a burglar, like you so enjoy telling me. It’s always ‘Master Burglar’ with you, isn’t it?” 

“You said yourself you’ve never stolen a thing—“ 

“That was then,” said Bilbo flapping his hand irritably at the dwarf, “I don’t know if you remember the elven King’s dungeons very well, but I certainly do, what with living in them for almost a month of sneaking around, stealing food and hiding under tables and all. Stole a bunch of dwarves too, if you don’t remember, though I’ll admit it was a bit of a clumsy job.” 

“You are a hobbit,” Thorin stated, mouth tightening. 

“Well spotted,” Bilbo scoffed, blowing his nose softly. He sniffed. Bah, stubborn dwarf. “Was it the feet that gave it away? Or maybe the ears?” Thorin took a step foreword. 

“Look, that was the point, wasn’t it?" continued Bilbo. "My entire involvement in this quest is due to my being a hobbit. And probably being the only one in the whole Shire to have a significant enough lapse of good sense to actually agree to going on this quest. When we’re not gossiping or dancing on tables we hobbits can be very quiet folk indeed, thank you very much. And I’m sure you’ve noticed that the bigger folk of the world never seem to give much of a care to those much shorter then them in the first place, all the better to go unnoticed,” Bilbo finished, wagging his finger to make his point. Thorin looked pained and grim, and he brought his hands down to his sides. 

“I will give you that, but you are no warrior. You should not be in such danger.” 

“ _Nobody_ should have to be in such danger,” Bilbo shot back. “Isn’t that the point of this whole quest? Reclaim the mountain so your people can live in the safety of its walls?” 

“I was speaking of yourself.” 

“I made my decision! Goodness, why all of this is coming out now, I’ll never know. What about the last couple of months out in the wild, the trolls and goblins and stone giants! Not to mention Mirkwood—just the whole thing, really. One giant, dangerous, badly thought out mess!” When he breathed in he choked on air and dissolved into a coughing fit. By the gardens did that hurt. When he finally looked up he found Thorin had come right up to the bed and was looking down at him in obvious concern. 

“I am all too aware of the danger I have placed you in,” the dwarf said slowly. “Do not think I don’t know that,” the lines around Thorin’s eyes were pained, and the dwarf seemed to slump, tired and worn down. “Your safety has long been on my mind.” 

“Well…” Bilbo cleared his throat. It had become suddenly hot in the room. Perhaps his fever was coming back? “Well,” he said again, worrying his lip a moment. The hobbit frowned, and shot the dwarf a sharp look. “That’s not entirely fair, Master Dwarf.” 

Thorin looked up in confusion. “ _My safety has been on your mind,_ ” the hobbit huffed, “Really. And I suppose you’re the only one whose allowed to be worried, aren’t you? Dwarves, _really_.” 

“ _Bilbo._ ” 

“ _I_ am not the one who charged at Azog by himself when then orc was riding a massive warg and flanked by his orc pack.” 

Thorin scowled. "You stood against him as well." 

“Because you did! Because if I didn’t he would have—he’d have—“ the hobbit’s voice faltered suddenly, face paling. He cleared his throat and fixed the dwarf with a glare. “It would not have been necessary if you hadn’t charged in headfirst without any care for yourself.” 

But the dwarf shook his head, “Bilbo, you are no match for Azog,” 

“I beg your pardon, I rather thought I had proven my worth—“ 

“You _have_ proven your worth! A hundred times over--but Azog is one of the most fearsome warriors to walk this earth. It is folly to engage him in battle.” 

“So you admit it!” crowed the hobbit triumphantly. “You admit it was folly! Why on earth did you do it if you knew you couldn’t win?!” 

“I have no choice! It is my duty to strike down the scum that has sworn to wipe out my bloodline!” 

“It is _not_ your duty to go on suicidal charges into certain death!” 

“You have no obligation to do the same!” 

“What should I have done? Stayed out of it and watch you die!?” 

“If it would keep you safe, then _yes!_ ” 

The words hung heavily between them. Bilbo’s eyes widened in shock, flushed and breathing heavily either from illness or from their argument or both. He made a small noise in the back of his throat. His eyes darted down before meeting Thorin’s gaze again.

“No. No that’s…that’s not acceptable, Thorin. Do you think I could live with myself, knowing that I may have been able to save your life but hadn’t even tried, just because it was dangerous?” 

“At least you would be alive to regret it," the dwarf gritted out, eyes dark. 

“Confound you! You-you stubborn, arrogant, _selfish—!“_ a deep cough forced its way out of the hobbit, cutting him off and rattling his chest. Another and another followed, and soon he was doubled over, arms clasped across his torso in an attempt to brace himself against the onslaught. When it finally let up he wheezed, wiping his nose and rubbing his sore throat ruefully. “Oh blast, my throat’s too sore for this," he wheezed. 

Thorin made to reach out to the hobbit, but stopped, hand raised in midair. There was something painful in his eyes, guilt, shame even, as his hand dropped and clenched into a fist by his side, eyes lowered. 

“I…forgive me,” he grated out, mouth set in a thin line. “It seems I am detrimental to your health.” Bilbo opened his mouth to send off another retort, only to stop. He looked at Thorin, really looked at the dwarf standing before him. What a sorry picture he made. A large, powerful dwarf, shoulders slumped and face worn, looking dejected and miserable and full of guilt. Bilbo sighed and reached out, taking a huge paw of a hand in his own. He squeezed it gently. 

“What nonsense. You know that’s not true.” Thorin met his eyes tentatively. 

“Isn’t it, though?” 

“Well, I’d probably be at the bottom of the lake if not for you, so… there’s that.” The dwarf sucked in a sharp breath, hand tightening around the hobbit’s own. 

“And yet your involvement was on my behalf.” 

Bilbo let out a frustrated groan. “Look, we’re just going to snipe at each other all day and still not come to any sort of conclusion. Why don’t we just skip all that and call it a truce, yes? Come back later after I’ve successfully drunken all the honey smothered tea that gets shoved at me, then we can argue a bit more.” 

Thorin’s eyes darkened and his lips tightened for a moment, gaze tracing over the hobbit’s too pale face and fever flushed cheeks, and lingering on his linen wrapped chest. He nodded, and Bilbo’s heart fluttered as the other huge paw of a hand covered their joined ones, his own easily swallowed between the two. 

“But the sniping is the best part, Master Baggins,” Thorin admitted softly. Oh, that was… 

“It’s _Bilbo_ , I thought I told you before,” chided the hobbit, warmth curling around his heart. Thorin gave a slow smile. 

“My apologies,” the hands around his own squeezed gently, and a large thumb rubbed softly against his knuckles. “ _Bilbo._ ” 

xxx 

It had been four days. _Four_ days stuck in this same room, and as far as Bilbo was concerned that was four days too many. This was of course not mentioning the days he had spent unconscious, also within this very same room. He wanted out, and he wanted out _now_. As soon as possible. Preferably yesterday, if not sooner. 

Which was much easier said than done, perhaps unsurprisingly. 

“Couldn’t I just re-locate downstairs for the day? I’ll be laying down and everything. Just not in this stifling room.” 

Thorin’s lips thinned and his eyes darkened, no doubt imagining all the horrible dangers that could befall the hobbit downstairs. As far as the dwarf King was concerned, Bilbo shouldn’t even be getting up to use the privy! Bilbo had been most loud about his opinion of using a bedpan however, so at least the insufferable dwarf hadn’t gotten his way there. Hah. 

“I would not have you jostled on the stairs,” replied the dwarf gravely. 

The hobbit didn’t even bother to hold back a sigh. “Thorin, please. I’m a hobbit. I’m not made of glass, a little jostle won’t damage me.” 

“Your chest—“ 

“Can handle a few stairs,” he huffed, ignoring the slight twinge of pain at the action. “My rib was broken, yes, but it’s setting nicely, it’s hardly going to puncture anything. So long as I’m not running or bashing into walls I should be fine.” 

“I will not risk you like that.” 

“At least let me come down for dinner! I haven’t seen everyone all together in ages. I hate to say it, but perhaps you lot have spoiled me for polite company, I actually _miss_ all the cutlery flying everywhere and shouting and bad jokes. I just want to see everyone all together and happy before we have a go at the mountain. Catching a bit of natural lighting wouldn’t hurt either,” he ended in a mutter. Thorin did look a little regretful, but clearly not enough to be swayed. 

“I know you would prefer a room with a window, but after what happened I will not risk you again while you are so ill. This room is the most defensible in the whole house, not to mention the warmest.” 

“You awful dwarf!” Bilbo said, scowling heavily. “I just want to see everyone! I’m going stale in here.” 

“I will not jeopardize your safety, nor your recovery,” the dwarf said in a very final tone. Bilbo threw a pillow at him. Sadly it did very little damage at all, and in fact only flopped down against his iron-capped boot, drawing a very unimpressed look from the intended target. He even looked a bit smug. Ohh, curse him… 

Eventually, and with much appealing to the rest of the company (and even hamming it up a bit), they managed a compromise. 

“Warm enough, Bilbo?” 

“Hmm? Oh yes, thank you Dori,” the hobbit replied from where he was propped up in bed, plate in his lap. 

“Hey Bilbo! I bet you didn’t know I could juggle!” cried Kili, giving a laugh and tossing a couple of bread rolls into the air at once. He caught one, fumbled with the other and flat out missed the third, which landed with a soft _thwump_ on the wooden floor. 

“That’s because you _can’t,_ ” Fili grinned at his brother. 

“You distracted me!” 

The hobbit chuckled, watching the two brothers playfully snipe at each other. Oin had deemed Bilbo well enough for stimulating company, but wasn’t too keen on any excessive movement on his part just yet. None of them were willing to compromise their hobbit’s health in anyway what-so-ever at the moment, the kidnapping and near-fatal illness somehow overriding every and all other kinds of judgment they may have ever had and sending them all into a frankly alarming state of strong-armed mother-henning. 

But they couldn’t say no to a plea for company. And Bilbo suspected his woeful pleas had been more effective than usual given how pathetic he looked, all pale and bandaged, and fever flushed. So they had all piled into Bilbo’s room, bringing plates and bowls and food, reminding Bilbo terribly of that night at Bag End where they had thrown his things around most disrespectfully. At least this time they were throwing someone else’s things around, and Bilbo could just relax and pity the poor bugger who ended up having to do the cleaning afterwards. 

“Bilbo! We still haven’t given you your presents yet!” exclaimed Ori, stopping mid-bite. 

“That’s right!” cried Kili, digging a pouch out of his pocket. “Bilbo, we got you gift candy!” 

“What?” asked Bilbo in confusion, clearing his throat painfully. In the next half minute, the foot of his bed suddenly acquired a pouch of candy, a beautiful hand crafted pipe and buttons, a whole box of fine handkerchiefs, a box of tea—actual tea (not that awful herbal remedy Oin forced on him), a warm scarf, and a metal bracelet inscribed with ‘dwarf-friend’ in khuzdul. 

“But…what in the mother’s name is all of this for?” exclaimed Bilbo helplessly. 

“Because you were so sick and miserable, and that isn’t right,” Fili said firmly. 

“Goodness me…t-this really isn’t necessary!” 

“Yes it is,” insisted Dori, puffing up. “It’s the least we can do for you, after all you’ve done for us.” Bifur said something loudly in khuzdul, giving Bilbo a stern look. 

“Bif’s right,” agreed Bofur, smiling. “Family looks after family, Mister hobbit.” 

“Oh,” Bilbo said, sniffling. “ _Oh._ ” And to his horror, he felt tears welling up behind his eyes and his throat began to constrict. “Oh for goodness sakes!” The hobbit hid his face in his hands as his dwarves all started to laugh “This is too much! Entirely too much!” 

“Ach, of course it isn’t,” came Bofur’s voice from above him. “We’ve only got one hobbit, after all.” 

“Be quiet you! That’s not fair!” He buried his face deeper, feeling a sob welling up. There was more laughing and chuckling, and more than one large hand patted his shoulders and back, a hand or two gently tussling his hair, always mindful of his injuries. 

It touched him more than he could say, to have family again. Real, proper _family_ , not nosy, gossipy relations looking to get their hands on his belongings, or to invite themselves over and give him condescending advice and help themselves to his food. It meant the world. 

When he finally got his emotions under check (which thanks to his illness, took much longer than it should have) he resurfaced, and wiped his not-puffy-at-all eyes behind the guise of blowing his nose. No one was fooled for a moment, he was sure, but they were kind enough not to mention it. So Bilbo gratefully accepted a new mug of tea when it was offered, and watched his dwarves fondly from the comfort of his bed. 

He had missed this. The long month of trekking through Mirkwood had only gotten darker and grimmer the longer they walked, and the near month spent under constant fear of being discovered in Thranduil’s halls had been almost worse. It had been entirely too long since he had had all of his exasperating dwarves all together and happy and being their ridiculous selves. Hang bed rest, this was what he really needed. 

Though he was very careful to leave his arms laying on the bed or close to his body. They had begun to tremble slightly as fatigue crept up on him (and after his little emotional cry—which _did not happen,_ thank you—drained him further). The last thing he wanted was to cut things short. 

Leaning contentedly back against the pillows, belly warm and full from the thick stew, feeling cared for and loved, he could almost ignore his sore throat and aching chest. His eyes drifted shut for just a moment and he smiled, the warmth radiating out from his forehead and face blending into the warmth of the room and the softness of the bed, the sounds of his friends all talking and laughing around him. 

It was the first time in a long time he'd felt completely safe and content. 

… 

… 

.. 

.. 

. 

. 

_Falling, he was falling backwards, frigid water rushing up to swallow him whole and he couldn't breath, couldn't move, couldn’t see—_

“Bilbo! Bilbo, wake up!” Consciousness returned like surfacing from that awful icy water, air burning in his lungs as he took great gasping breaths, choking and coughing as his chest constricted and his throat ached. 

“Bilbo. It was a dream. You are safe now. Safe.” 

Great warm arms were wrapped around him, and he blearily registered that his face was pressed up against a firm, warm mass. Someone’s chest. He let out a whine at the warmth and comfort, trying to shake off the lingering chill of the lake, dark water _swirling around him, tied down and helpless against the current dragging him down, down—_

“ _Shhhh_. Bilbo, can you hear me?” No, no, he was safe. He hadn’t drowned. Someone had saved him. Pulled him up from that wretched place. A great hand ran up and down his back, soothing and leaving heat burning in its wake. 

“Bilbo. Are you with me?” He was being shaken very gently. The deep voice rumbled all around him, “I want you to nod if you can understand.” The hobbit managed a shaky nod, choking on a cough as he did so. 

“Good. That’s very good, Bilbo. Do you know who I am?” 

“..T-Thorin…” 

“That’s right. I have you. You are safe and in bed.” It was Thorin. Thorin who had pulled him from the lake, cut him from that awful chair, dragged him _up to the surface, through the swirling water—_

“Shhh,” a sob forced its way up his throat, and he ground his head into Thorin’s chest. He was safe. Thorin was safe, and nothing would happen to him here. The dwarf shifted, and Bilbo found himself clinging desperately to him, terrified he’d leave him alone with the water, the _lake, so heavy, dragging him down, down—_

“Don’t go…please, don’t—“ he managed, squeezing his eyes against the hot rush of tears. 

“ _Shhh._ I’m not going anywhere. You are safe. Safe.” He knew he was being silly, no respectable hobbit would ask to cling to another for comfort from a bad dream. But he couldn’t help himself. It was simply too much. 

“If anything wanted to hurt you, they’d have to go through the whole company first,” came Thorin’s voice, rumbling beneath Bilbo's cheek. “See, there’s Bifur and Dwalin and Gloin,” Bilbo didn’t look up, but he was suddenly aware of what sounded like a few more people in the room. Oh. He must have been making a lot of noise in his sleep to have brought them running. The thought was faintly embarrassing, but he felt too rung out to care as much as he knew he should. “Not one dwarf of this company will hesitate if something is wrong. Nothing will harm you. Not while any of us have strength left.” 

He knew in the back of his mind it was ridiculous, to be seeking reassurance like this—and from Thorin of all people. Yet he couldn’t help himself, the dream had been all too real, the warehouse, the scratchy blindfold, limbs _tied to the chair as he was pushed backwards into the freezing lake—_

“Shhh…rest now, Bilbo. 

“I-I’m sorry.” 

The arms around him tightened. “No. No, you have nothing to be sorry for.” 

He choked out a depreciating laugh that was more of a sob, “Having nightmares—“ 

“Night terrors are nothing to be scoffed at," Thorin firmly cut him off. "Many seasoned warriors suffer from what they have seen and done. Just as you are. There is no shame in it. None at all,” the dwarf’s tone left no room for argument. Bilbo huffed out a sigh and slumped further into the warmth of his chest. Exhaustion pulled at him, though his heart still beat too loud and fast. 

“Can you sleep some more? You need the rest,” Thorin asked eventually, after Bilbo had calmed some. 

“I-I don’t…I’ll try,” he mumbled, still shaken. Licking his lips, the hobbit slowly pulled away from the dwarf’s embrace, and he could feel that Thorin was reluctant to let him go. But he did, and proceeded to carefully lower him back onto the mattress, covering him warmly with blankets. The dwarf was being so gentle, so careful with him, as if he may break at any moment. Bilbo sniffled, and shook his head self deprecatingly. “This hardly…falls under the duties of a King,” he mumbled, feeling all of his energy drain right out of him. “Tucking a hobbit in to bed after a silly nightmare...” 

“Hardly silly,” Thorin admonished softly, smoothing down the blankets with a large hand. “ _Sleep_ , Bilbo,” The hand slid up to his chest and rubbed gentle, soothing circles. Bilbo’s eyes drooped, too heavy to keep open. “Let me take care of you. For once.” 

The last thing he felt before falling into a heavy, dreamless sleep was the soft press of lips to his forehead. 

xxx 

Bilbo was unable to meet Thorin’s eyes the next day, feeling his face heat up in embarrassment, or perhaps some other equally distressing emotion. But he did manage a smile for the dwarf, and dipped his head in thanks before turning away, feeling the tips of his ears heat up in a blush.

Oin examined him again, and finally declared the fever to be on the retreat. Which was probably the best news Bilbo had heard in ages. He was by no means healthy, but the worst was over. He might even be allowed to move about in a day or so! 

The company was overjoyed at the news, and Bilbo immediately found himself offered all sorts of tours of the town and promises of going to shops and pubs. Dwalin even offered to personally carry him around if he became too tired. All in all, Bilbo felt so very cared for that it nearly brought him to tears. Another unfortunate leftover from his fever; Becoming overemotional at the drop of a hat. Blast it all. 

No longer being dangerously ill also meant there was no need to have a dwarf or two in the room with him while he was slept, in case of any dangerous spikes in his temperature or bouts of delirium. Officially out of danger, he was _finally_ allowed some much missed privacy. 

Which meant sleeping alone.

Xxx 

It was a nice room. Comfortable, even. To be fair, most things would be after all that he’d been through in the last couple months, but even then. A solid four walls and a roof was nothing to scoff at. And the bed he was laying in was heavenly compared to the hard, uneven ground he’d spent a depressing number of nights sleeping on. 

It was quiet in the house. Barely any noise at all in fact. No squeaking floor boards, no ridiculous dwarven iron-capped boots stomping and clomping around as they tend to do. He knew that Bifur was just outside the door, set up for the night with a blanket and his great spear. Which was also ridiculous, really. The idea that he would need someone nearby was completely unnecessary. 

It seemed increasingly unlikely that the smugglers would be looking to retaliate any time soon, what with so many of them being captured and safely behind bars. There was no reason for such paranoia, and no reason that they would target _Bilbo_ again, anyway. The company had cheerfully ignored his opinion on the matter and so he had gained a dwarven guard on his first official night away from constant surveillance. 

Ridiculous as it was, it was such a kind gesture and truly warmed (and equally exasperated) his heart that those silly fellows cared for him so. But in truth this hobbit had been far too long without any time just to himself, needing some space he could be where there aren’t at least two other dwarves already occupying it. Mirkwood notwithstanding. Though to be honest, he may have been invisible the whole time in the dungeons, but alone he most certainly was _not_ , elves everywhere, constant paranoia—no. Now he could enjoy being alone safely for the first time in months. 

And he was safe here. 

The hobbit huffed quietly. Ridiculous. Certainly no need for a stubborn dwarf to be camped out in the hallway.

The room was nice. Four solid walls, very sturdy and thick. No windows. There was a cozy fireplace, baked for the night, and a plush rug with warm, earthy colours. It was almost enough to make him think of the Shire. 

There was no window. Not in this room. This was, in fact, the only room in the house without a window. That's why he was moved here after all. For its central location and nice thick walls, sturdy, comfortable, no windows. 

No window. 

He swallowed with some difficulty, body hyper-aware and oversensitive. His breaths seemed louder than they had any right to be, and he struggled to regulate them, slow and steady and soft. Quiet. The weight of the blankets atop him felt heavy, almost an ache against his body from where he lay on his side. 

The back of his calf began to itch. He swallowed heavily, gritting his teeth . After a while he couldn't ignore it. Finally, he slowly, _carefully_ brought his foot up to scratch against it the back of his leg, moving as little and as quietly as possible and stilling the instant the itch was gone. Eyes squeezed shut, he took slow, deep breaths and listening desperately for any sounds. 

There was no window here, he knew if he opened his eyes all he’d find is the nice room, lit faintly by the embers in the fireplace, with nice sturdy walls—and the rug, the nice warm rug and wasn’t there a table over by the wall? The nightstand too, and it had all the gifts he'd had thrust on him from the other day. It’s silly how very much these dwarves seem concerned about him when really there’s nothing at all to—

A single _creeeaaak_ had his eyes shooting open, heart skipping a panicked beat. His breath stuttered, catching in his throat, his heart begging to pound loudly (too loud, _too loud!_ ) in his ears. The night table came into view, deep shadows casting around the room from the fire, and from—from 

The window— 

There was no window in this room. No shutters, nothing to open, _no one watching him, waiting for him to sleep so they could crawl inside and—_

Shaking, the hobbit fought the simultaneous instincts to curl up into a ball, make himself small and unnoticeable, and the need to be _still_ , to not make a single sound. 

He squeezed his eyes shut and slowly, so slowly dipped his head closer to the blankets, shoulders hunching up and legs curling ever so carefully. Every small shift of fabric, every small sound the mattress made jarred him horribly, ringing out loudly in the close silence of the room. Too loud, too loud! 

There was _no_ window in this room, there was only one door guarded by a dwarf, there was no way— _no way…_

It’s safe. He was safe here. 

_Safe._

He was safe. 

He swallowed heavily and it _hurt_ , and to his horror he felt the back of his throat itch. Oh no. Oh by the Green Lady, please _no_ —it was no use. He could feel himself about to cough. His breath stuttered in fear and desperation, a soft whine catching in his throat— 

He coughed, loud and jarring in the too-still room. His hands shot up to try and muffle the sound, his shoulders hunching over desperately, but it was no good. Again and again, he couldn't stop coughing, tears springing to his eyes, a sob tearing its way loose. 

Finally it stopped. 

He couldn't hear for the blood pounding frantically in his ears. His body shook. He was tense, so tense, completely paralyzed, whole body straining for any kind of sound, any indication that he’d been spotted, been too loud— 

_Creeaaak_

A whimper escaped him, his eyes blinking open, fists clenched so tightly they must have been drawing blood from his palms. 

“Bâhanith?” 

Bilbo froze. That…that was…he looked up and saw a faint shape in the dim light of the dying fire. 

It was Bifur. All the air left him in a rush and he curled up, feeling absolutely retched and drained, like all his nerves had been set on fire and suddenly doused. 

Bifur took one look at the terrified lump of hobbit and rushed over to the bed, carefully leaning his spear against the wall. “Dushabdâg?” asked the dwarf, voice gentle. Bilbo flinched at the sound. Bifur slowly reached a hand out, placing it carefully on Bilbo’s arm. The hobbit shuddered in relief at the contact, tears suddenly springing to his eyes. This was pathetic. A full grown hobbit reduced to tears by a darkened room? What in the Shire was wrong with him?! 

“…S-sorry…” he choked out, angrily scrubbing a shaky hand against his eyes. “I-sorry.” A sharp tap to his head had him looking up. Bifur shook his head vehemently, frowning. Before Bilbo could say anything else the dwarf carefully cupped his face in his roughened hands, gently bringing their foreheads together, mindful of the axe. 

Oh. That was nice. The hobbit’s eyes slipped closed, beyond thankful at the rush of warmth, the sheer _safeness_ that radiated from the contact. Bifur pulled away only to draw the suddenly boneless hobbit into a hug, rubbing his back and murmuring quietly. 

It was so warm. So safe. Another cough ripped through his body and Bifur braced him through it. Bilbo felt so heavy and weak, shudders coming and going as the dwarf rocked him slowly, murmuring a soft melody into his curls, large hands rubbing up and down his back. 

Bifur cradled the hobbit until he feel asleep, and then gently tucked him back in the large bed. This could not go on, the dwarf decided, looking at the haggard and drawn face, dark shadows under his eyes. 

Bifur stood guard by the bed all night, smoothing the tousled curls and murmuring gently at any sign of distress from the small creature. 

Xxx 

When Bilbo was allowed downstairs to breakfast the next morning, he hardly expected to see Dori and Dwalin carrying a bed down the hall. 

“What on earth is that for?” Bilbo asked, looking away from the compelling breakfast spread out on the table before him to the spectacle at the top of the stairs. 

“We figured you might be getting lonely in that big room all on your lonesome, so we’re setting you up with a roommate,” explained Bofur cheerfully. 

“A roommate?” the hobbit’s eyes narrowed suspiciously, “ And I suppose this has nothing at all to do with…” he coughed, suddenly uncomfortable. “Recent events.” He was sure they all knew about his...trouble last night. Of course they did. But the absolute last thing he’d ever wanted was their pity. 

“Dwarven thing, lad,” said Gloin, tapping his nose. “We stick with our kin and shield mates. It’s normal to find kin bunking with kin back in our mountains.” 

“Doesn’t mean you have to _every_ night, though,” added Bofur with a wink. 

“Aye,” agreed Nori, grinning widely. “Sometimes a dwarf needs to give his axe a good polish, if you know what I mean,” he waggled his eyebrows suggestively. “’Course, that means you’d be bunking with someone anyway. Or several someones. Whichever vein you choose to set your axe to.” 

“Nori!” came Dori’s voice from the hallway upstairs, “I can hear you. Don’t you say such vulgar things!” 

“Yes Dori, dear!” shouted the thief. Bilbo used the resulting laughter and following threats from the silver-haired dwarf to slip from his seat and make his way over to Thorin. 

“Might I have a word with you?” the hobbit hissed, jerking his head at the adjoining room. Thorin raised an eyebrow but got to his feet, leading them away from the unruly company and into the deserted sitting room. He was still a bit wobbly on his feet, though Thorin was kind enough not to mention. But he kept close in case Bilbo should suddenly collapse or some such nonsense. Ridiculous. 

“Is something the matter Master Baggins?” 

“It’s _Bilbo_ , I thought we agreed on that?” 

“…Bilbo, of course," corrected Thorin with a nod. 

The hobbit hummed in approval, “That’s better. Now, about this whole bed business—don’t think I don’t know what this is!” he jabbed his finger threateningly at the dwarf. Thorin raised an eyebrow. 

“And pray, what is that?” 

“You know very well what!” he huffed, irritated. 

Thorin watched him for a moment. “Am I correct in assuming you see it as improper?” 

"What? No no--" 

"Is it shameful, then?" asked the dwarf, eyes widening in sudden understanding. 

“Shameful?" repeated the hobbit with a glare. "No, there's no shame in simply sharing a room. That, however, is _not_ what this is. This, this is pity. And I do not need or particularly desire that. Not from you.” 

“Not pity," Thorin amended gently. "Respect,” Bilbo snorted. “Concern for your well-being.” 

“This of course has nothing to do with my being the only hobbit in the company, now does it? Too soft to--” 

“Gloin was not lying when he said we often share sleeping areas with one another. Many a warrior is plagued by night terrors. It is nothing to be ashamed of.” when Bilbo finally slumped in defeat and looked down at his toes, Thorin added, “And that is why I will be sharing your room.” 

“What?!" Bilbo's head snapped up, "No, out of the question! You’re a King, surely you need your rest. You do _not_ want to share quarters with a nightmare-plagued hobbit.” 

“It is my room you’re staying in,” Thorin added, raising an eyebrow. “Why shouldn’t I move back in?” Bilbo shook his head, lips thinning. 

“It’s not right for a hobbit to be taking comfort from a King,” the dwarf’s eyes darkened. 

“You are part of my company," stated Thorin, using his superior height to loom over the other impressively. Bilbo huffed, completely unfazed. As if Thorin would ever hurt him. He'd be more likely to write love poetry to Thranduil. "As the leader of this company that means _I_ am responsible for you. So you very well should be taking comfort from a King. I demand it even, when you require such aid," the dwarf continued when Bilbo shook his head. 

“On the contract, is it?” quipped Bilbo, crossing his arms. There was a pause. 

"Yes.” 

At Bilbo’s thoroughly unimpressed expression, Thorin added, “I’ll make an amendment.” The hobbit sighed, and huffed mulishly. 

“You impossible dwarf. I do appreciate the assistance, I really do. But I think watching over hobbits while they sleep is a bit above and beyond the call of duty, don’t you think?” 

“Do you refuse to accept the gesture from a King?” asked the dwarf. Bilbo gave him a wan smile. 

“My father would have never let me hear the end of it, I’m sure.” 

“What about from a friend?” Bilbo opened his mouth, then closed it, looking up at Thorin in confusion. “I know I have treated you poorly before, and you never deserved it,” the dwarf’s face was grave. “My apologies to you on the Carrock were true, but perhaps now I can see they were not enough. I had hoped that my actions would speak louder than my words, but I have failed even in that regard. I…you are a true friend, Mas--Bilbo. And if you would allow, I would gladly declare you my shield-brother, and be honoured if you would accept me as yours.” 

The dwarf then determinedly stuck out his hand as if extending a handshake. 

Bilbo stared down at it for a long moment, eyes wide. He reached out and clasped the larger hand with his own, feeling the roughness of the skin and the heavy calloused on the palm. The dark hairs covering the back of it. So very different than his own. A smile quirked at his mouth and Thorin suddenly found himself being hugged fast around his midsection. 

Mahal, the little creature barely made it up to his shoulder. Flailing for a helpless moment, Thorin slowly brought up his own arms, enfolding the hobbit in a warm embrace, mindful of his still healing rib. It eased some deep tension within him that he hadn’t known of, having this being in his amrs, close and safe and warm. 

“You great lug,” came Bilbo’s muffled voice. He reluctantly pulled away, keeping hold of the hobbit’s arms as he did so. The smaller being frowned petulantly up at him. “You’ve been my friend for months now! I don’t know why you dwarves need to be so formal about everything.” A bright burst of warmth blossomed in Thorin’s chest, along with a sudden hope. 

“So you accept.” 

“Of course I accept! Though you do realize I don't actually know what all a shield-brother is to you dwarves?”

"An honoured friend, who's worth and loyalty has been proven true on the field of battle, and thus should be honoured and trusted outside of it as well," explained Thorin, watching Bilbo fondly.

"Honoured and trusted, you say?" A mischievous glint suddenly came into the hobbit’s eyes, and he smiled, “Does this mean I get to order you around?”

“You already do that.”

The hobbit smacked him in the chest, drawing a deep chuckle from the dwarf. 

“And you actually have to listen to me?!” 

“As King, I do not have to bend to the will of any but my own," responded Thorin, grinning. “But one would only be a fool if they ignored the words of a Valued Adviser.” Bilbo groaned dramatically and hid his face in his hands. 

“Oh blast and be-bothered! I was so hoping you would have forgotten about that ridiculous title.” 

“I would never,” Thorin declared solemnly. “Not even if I were to forget my own name.” 

“Didn’t anyone ever tell you that lying is very rude?’ asked Bilbo, peeking up from his hands. “Because it _is_ , especially from a King. Most unseemly.” 

Thorin raised an imperious eyebrow. “The words of a King are law.” 

“Goodness, he’s modest too.” A loud rumbling had them both looking down, and Bilbo rubbed his tummy sheepishly. 

“And I say now that you should have your breakfast,” Thorin said, smiling softly. 

“You're shaping up to be a grand monarch with orders like that," Bilbo replied, patting the dwarf on the arm. "But Thorin, really, I don’t need you sharing a room with me while I sleep.” 

“Would you do it as a favor to me, then?” Thorin held up a hand when the hobbit looked to say something. “I am not entirely selfless in this.” Bilbo frowned, and Thorin felt a faint blush creeping up the backs of his ears. “Perhaps, I too have been having trouble sleeping. I find your presence to be…comforting,” he confessed quietly, not quite meeting the smaller creature’s eyes. “I…when you were gone…I couldn’t…it was…” he trailed off in frustration, running a hand through his hair. 

Bilbo sighed, a hopelessly fond smile tugging at his lips.“Thorin. Alright. _Alright_. You can stay,” the dwarf lit right up, a smile breaking across his face that had no place being there for such an innocuous occasion. Bilbo would have thought he’d just reclaimed Erebor _and_ beaten Azog into the mud from an expression like that. “Silly dwarf," he huffed. 

“After all, it is _my_ room you’re sleeping in,” Thorin's smile turned distinctly smug. “I have the right to move back in should I wish.” 

“Is that so?” 

“I have the only right.” 

Bilbo smacked him again, the dwarf’s laughter following them all the way into the dinning room. 

_End_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bâhanith - Little friend
> 
> Dushabdâg - Nightmare
> 
>  
> 
> I know it always bothers me when a fic ends at Laketown and everything is nice and happy, because I know botfa is coming next and it's all going to hell. So as a little note, in this verse everyone survives the battle, and though it takes a bit of time they all manage to work past the gold-sickness and arkenstone business and everything works out for the better.
> 
>  
> 
> I might write more for this verse, but probably not for a while. What would I write about, anyway? It's not like any of the smugglers could escape or anything. After all, Laketown is very secure, there's no way they could get out of prison. 
> 
> Not like a giant dragon burns the whole place down, making it very easy for someone to slip away in the confusion...right?
> 
> *cackles*
> 
> I hope you enjoyed! :D


End file.
